Skin Deep
by Epilachna
Summary: Thranduil knows better than any that beauty is only skin deep, but what does he believe lies underneath? Early Third Age.
1. Prologue

_**Spoiler Alert**__ for the disfigured Thranduil scene. Sorry for those of you who didn't like it, but I thought it was one of the few brilliant additions to the films. I hope to have this done in ten chapters or so but we'll see.  
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_Story Image Credit: Yuuza, deviantart  
_

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**Skin Deep**

**Prologue: The Elvenking**  
**Second Age 3441**

Thranduil removed the crown from his head and placed it none too gently upon the dressing table. He hated the wretched thing and had to fight the urge to lash out at the counselor who laid it upon his head. The crown had to wait. He needed all his focus to hold back the fury burning bright inside him in that moment he was first hailed king and during the long hours of feasting following his coronation. He could not allow his emotions to overtake him, else the glamour fade in full view of the court. He could not have that – not on this day, nor any other.

Alone now in his chambers he allowed his anger freedom and as he stared into the mirror he watched tears fall from a dead eye onto a hollowed cheek that was, as always, without feeling. It was a horror he allowed none to behold, not since the early days after Morgoth fell when he was still too weak to shield the injury from others. He had cursed the dragon then, but as he watched another tear fall upon unfeeling flesh a thought came to him, unbidden. If only the deadened nerves of his face could share their secret with his heart, he might yet bless the dragon that disfigured him. It would be easier to feel nothing than to suffer the burden of his father's death and the other losses to the Greenwood. Greenwood the Great was his now to protect, but part of him felt betrayed by the wood, itself, for he could even now hear the echo of his father's voice – a promise spoken now an age past.

'_We will know peace again, my son, here beneath the Greenwood.'_

He had believed his father then, and for a time, it was so. But the darkness rose again as it is want to do, and this time it took more than a pound of Thranduil's flesh. His father was dead and thousands of his people lost. And what had Thranduil to show in return for this great sacrifice? Nothing but a heart seared by rage and his father's hideous crown.


	2. Careful Correspondence

**Chapter 1: Careful Correspondence  
Third Age 108**

Lord Celeborn lifted his eyes from the parchment at the knock on his door. "Come," he called. The door opened and in peered the face of the lady he had been expecting.

"Uncle." Upon entering Caladhel bowed in greeting to her elder. "You sent for me?"

Celeborn rose to his feet to greet his sister's eldest, holding out his hands to her. "Yes, please come in. I thought you might appreciate a reprieve. I know how much you enjoy embroidery." He shot her a knowing grin.

Caladhel was warmed by her uncle's thoughtful rescue. "I swear, if I have to stitch one more flower onto your daughter's wedding gown, my fingers will fall off!"

Celeborn chuckled at the expression that graced her face and the finger she held aloft. He took her hand in his and examined the offending finger. It did look a little worse for wear. He laid a kiss upon the callus forming on the tip. "My poor child. I believe I have a task better suited to you."

"Oh?" Caladhel could not hope to hide the eagerness in her voice. She did deplore needlework. Normally she would have her Aunt Galadriel's staunch support in the matter, but for the love of her daughter and the joy in her eyes Galadriel sat beside Celebrían for long hours, putting personal touches on her daughter's wedding garments. It was only by the grace of her uncle's summons that Caladhel was released.

Celeborn took Caladhel's arm in his and led her out upon his private walkway where they wandered leisurely beneath the stars. "I have need of a messenger to deliver word of Celebrían's marriage to the Greenwood."

Celeborn's request was a surprise to Caladhel and that emotion registered clearly on her face. She had acted as envoy for her uncle before on business to Imladris and Lindon – as well as a few times to the kingdom of men in the north – but to send her as a messenger? Surely there were others who could deliver a simple wedding invitation? Caladhel did not mind sacrificing the sewing party for a month's freedom abroad if her uncle requested it, but it was, to her mind, an odd request.

"Can one of the wardens not deliver an announcement to King Thranduil? There are those among them who journey to the Greenwood often enough. Haldir or Nessimon?"

Celeborn shook his head and a frown graced his face. "I think it best this particular announcement be delivered by a member of my house, not a courier."

Caladhel looked up to study her uncle's expression. She read his unease clearly enough, for it was written on his face. She wondered at its cause. Surely, her uncle had not promised his daughter's hand to the Sindarin king? Caladhel herself had never met this distant relation of theirs who ruled in the east, but between what she had heard of him and what she knew of Elrond, Caladhel would choose the peredhel Lord for Celebrían a thousand times over. "Do you believe Thranduil will be angered that you give your daughter's hand to the Half-elven?"

It was the very question that caused Celeborn to rethink sending one of the wardens in favor of his niece. There were many who had been displeased by Celebrían's choice in husband and with Celeborn's decision to support it. "I cannot say. Thranduil was inscrutable even as a child and with the passing of ages becomes ever more so. I will say he never showed interest in Celebrían during their past encounters. If anything, he seemed to find her lighthearted nature distasteful. That, however, was before his father fell and Thranduil crowned king. His counselors will now pressure him to marry and secure an heir for their realm."

What Celeborn did not share with Caladhel was his relief that his daughter would no longer be named a possible match for the king of the Greenwood. For though he had reservations about Elrond's worthiness, he knew without question the Peredhel's heart belonged to his daughter utterly and his love for her shone in every glance he cast her way. Thranduil, in contrast, was far too cold and reserved to be a proper match for his daughter. And while Celeborn feared joining with Elrond might diminish his daughter's light, he was certain Thranduil's spirit would quash it entirely.

"So then," replied Caladhel, divining from her uncle's words what it was he hoped for her to accomplish. "You do not simply wish for me to deliver the news, but also to judge his and his counselors reactions to it?"

Celeborn smiled down at her and nodded. He had grown accustomed to how quickly his niece saw to the heart of matters. It was why he chose her for more delicate assignments when he could, for she knew instinctively how best to approach difficult situations. This was never so much the case as it was when he sent her into the kingdoms of men. Caladhel was always able to draw more knowledge from the councils than the lords accompanying her. For where at times men would hold their tongues in the presence of an elven lord, they were not always so careful before Caladhel. She once brought Celeborn news of an entire conversation a group of counselors had before her in the old language of Numenor, believing she would not understand them. She had gleaned much from it, and all the while pretending to work her embroidery. It amused Celeborn greatly to think that the only time his niece did needlework was when she was acting as his spy.

Celeborn only hoped that Caladhel would not divine the other reason he sent her, for her anger could be as terrible as Galadriel's when sparked. Celeborn hoped the presence of Caladhel at Thranduil's court would be a reminder to the King's counselors that there were other noble ladies of Lórien with whom they might form marriage alliances, ladies with temperaments that were, perhaps, a better match for their king. Celeborn would not divulge these thoughts to his niece, but he was not fool enough to imagine she would remain blind to this particular motive for long. Caladhel, herself, would know that he would never marry her off to any lord against her will, but she might still resent being used as a distraction.

They had wandered as far as the steps leading down to Celebrían's quarters when Celeborn took both Caladhel's hands in his so that he faced her. "You will take on this task for me, then?"

"Of course, Uncle," she answered. "When do you wish me to depart?"

Celeborn believed the sooner the task was done, the better. "I will write the proper letters tonight and have Haldir assign you an escort. You may leave on the morrow."

"I will be ready at dawn." Caladhel rose on tiptoe and placed a kiss on her uncle's cheek. "I will have to break the news to Celebrían." She bowed her head and turning, took off down the stair to find her cousin.

Celeborn watched her go, hoping he had made the right decision. He turned back along the path toward his study to write letters to Thranduil and his counselors. It was going to be a long night.

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_**A/N:** After receiving a comment stating that Celebrían and Thranduil would not marry because they are cousins, I feel a clarification is needed. In my genealogy, Thranduil and Celebrían/Caladhel are 4th cousins. The girls are great-granddaughters of Thingol's brother Elmo and I gave Thingol an unnamed sister who is Thranduil's great-grandmother. That relationship would justify Oropher feeling he had the cred to start his own Sindarin kingdom in Greenwood and since Tolkien was so fond of leaving out all the 'unimportant' women in his stories (at least he gave Fëanor's half-sisters names, even if they aren't in The Silmarillion) I feel justified giving Thingol a sister, too. Also, the LACE states that elves did not marry 1st cousins, unless they were children of half-siblings so 4th cousins is no problem. Elrond and Celebrían are 4th cousins once removed in the same family tree._


	3. Greenwood the Great

**Chapter 2: Greenwood the Great  
**

Caladhel was surprised to find Haldir waiting for her in the courtyard below her talan early the next morning. He had her horse already saddled and his as well. She secured her weapons, picked up her light travel bag, already packed, threw it over her shoulder and descended the long stair to the forest floor. Haldir turned his gaze up to her and when she caught his eye her brow rose in silent questioning.

Haldir saw in that small gesture the question her eyes asked. "My father would have assigned me as your escort, were he not touring the western fences, so I assigned myself."

Caladhel suspected he was right. "And who will keep watch over the city while Lord Thandaer and his son are away?"

Haldir took Caladhel's bag and attached it to her saddle. She could see her question had offended him, though he tried to hide it. Haldir continued checking the horse's saddle and did not look at her when he asked, "Do you imagine I would take off to the Greenwood without ensuring all is cared for in Caras Galadhon?"

Caladhel knew Haldir was incredibly diligent in his duties. It had not been her intent to criticize him, but to pay him a compliment. She should have known better. He didn't take either very well. "It was a compliment, Haldir, not a criticism."

Here he did look back at her and she could almost hear him curse silently for his literal interpretation of her words. He knew she was not mean spirited.

"I meant only that there are no better guardians of the realm than you and your father," she said. "All others come a distant third."

Haldir did smile then and acknowledged her compliment with a small nod before his expression fell. "Do not let Húlben hear you say that," he said, thinking of the warden who was third in command. "It would not be an aid to him when my father and I are away. He is a fine warden."

There were many reasons why Haldir had been chosen to be his father's second, and Caladhel knew the care with which he trained and handled those under his command was one of the most important. Some elves thrived on praise, but Caladhel found that Haldir thrived best when he bestowed praise on others.

When Haldir was finished checking the horses he nodded to her and they departed, walking the horses to the edge of the city before mounting. They walked carefully through the forest for a couple days but had to ferry across the Anduin with their horses once they reached the river's shore. Caladhel's mare, Sídhel, did not care for being floated across water, but Caladhel's voice and soothing presence kept her calm. Once they crossed the water the horses were rewarded with far open fields stretched out for hundreds of miles north. Caladhel could feel the joy and excitement emanating from Sídhel and she and Haldir allowed their horses to set their own pace. The pair headed north at a gallop carrying their riders ever closer to Thranduil's halls.

It was ten days riding before they reached the Forest Road that would lead them to the Emyn Duir where Thranduil's kingdom was now seated. Haldir had told her the lords of the Greenwood dwelt in caves beneath the greatest of the small mountains. Caladhel, herself, found the very idea abhorrent. She could not see why any elf would desire to dwell underground.

"My father remembers Menegroth fondly," said Haldir. "As does Lord Celeborn. They say no palace now standing in Middle-earth comes close to the beauty of Doriath's cavern fortress."

Caladhel took his word on it, for her mother never spoke of her days in Doriath before she sailed west. It had never occurred to Caladhel to ask her uncle what it was like to dwell in caves, but she suspected he would prefer the trees under starlight to a ceiling of stone.

While riding north Haldir had kept them along the shores of the Anduin, so they had some miles to travel on the Forest Road before it entered Greenwood. The forest was not at all what Caladhel had been expecting. It was denser, she thought, than Lórien's wood and she found it difficult to see very far into its depths. She had no doubt that Greenwood's wardens had spotted them already and would soon make their presence known. There was no hurry. It would be clear to any in the trees that the riders came from Lórien. They rode awhile before a figure appeared on the road hailing them.

"Welcome, Haldir of Lórien."

Caladhel was momentarily surprised when the Greenwood warden greeted Haldir by name, but on second consideration knew she should not have been. There were few who ran messages back and forth between kingdoms. She had no doubt that Haldir and his father remembered the face and name of every Greenwood messenger to cross their border.

Haldir dismounted and walked over to the warden. He bowed slightly in greeting and then clasped the other warden's arm, a far more familiar gesture reserved for friends or others of equal stature.

Caladhel slid from her saddle and landed lightly on the road. She approached the Silvan guard who gave her a curious look.

Haldir held out a hand toward Caladhel. "May I present Lady Caladhel, niece of Lord Celeborn."

The warden bowed. "My lady, welcome."

"And this is Haldor, son of Iordor, who is captain of Greenwood's guard."

Caladhel found the similarities in both their names and lineage amusing and could not help but laugh. "You could be brothers," she said, smiling at both wardens.

Haldor returned her amusement with a winning smile but Haldir only appeared perplexed.

"Thank you for meeting us, warden," said Caladhel. "I carry a message for your king."

Haldor had wondered what business the lady had traveling so far from home and he knew the message must be of great importance else Haldir would have carried it himself.

"It is yet another day's ride along the path before you must turn north towards the mountain," said Haldor. "I would journey with you."

"If you do not mind riding Sídhel," said Caladhel, "I can ride with Haldir." She did not ask Haldir whether he minded for she knew he would not. Duty was not the only reason he came with her to the Greenwood, though Caladhel knew he would not admit how much he worried for her.

Haldor took Sídhel's reins and he whispered to her softly before mounting. Haldir was already upon his horse and he held out his arm for Caladhel. She clasped his and pulled herself up behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, entwining her fingers so she would not fall. Haldir held his horse's reins in his left hand. His right hand came to rest upon hers.

They rode a day east before turning north on the Elven Path leading to the mountains. It was a narrow road compared to the great east-west road through the forest and so they traveled single file. Caladhel could not see the mountains through the trees, though she knew from books and maps that they were far smaller than the Misty Mountains to the west, a few hills, really, jutting out above the trees. As they drew nearer Caladhel began to spot lights in the trees from the houses of Silvan elves who dwelt in the forest.

Upon reaching the roots of the mountain Caladhel saw a stream running down across the forward entrance to King Thranduil's underground fortress. The woodelves called it Limrond and when she was led inside through some narrow passages and into the Great Hall she learned why. The domed roof of the hall glittered with clear stones that reflected the colored light of the torches below. Rainbows were cast on the floors and walls where the facets of diamond roof had split the light. Caladhel stared long at the ceiling in wonder. The stones had not been shaped by the elves who lived here, merely polished and allowed to remain as the earth had made them.

Haldor disappeared when they reached the door to bring word of Caladhel's arrival, leaving her and Haldir gazing at the ceiling.

"Have you ever seen its like, Haldir?" Caladhel asked, amazed.

"Nay. I have never been invited inside the palace before, nor have I met their king." Haldir had a difficult time pulling his gaze from the roof of the hall, but ever the guardian, he forced himself to turn his attention to their surroundings. The hall was empty, save for a servant sweeping up and the two palace guards standing at the front entrance. The Great Hall was not deep inside the mountain and Haldir could easily trace his steps back to the entry, but he had not missed the maze of halls and passageways they passed along the way. He was certain that if they were taken deep enough into the mountain, it would be difficult to escape.

* * *

Haldor walked swiftly, taking the shortest path he knew to the King's study. Upon reaching the door he knocked twice and waited. A minute later the door drew back and Lord Túven, King Thranduil's chief counselor stood before him.

"Haldor?" he said, his voice registering surprise. "Were you not meant to be patrolling the western border for another month? Or so your father informed me."

Haldor bristled at Lord Túven's suggestion that he neglected his duty. It also irked him that the counselor seemed to know everything going on in the kingdom at all times – including the patrol schedules Iordor set.

"Yes, my lord, but messengers have come from Lord Celeborn. I escorted them directly to the palace."

"And why did you not simply bring me his letter?"

It was the King who had spoken, but Haldor could not see him through the door and the counselor who blocked his path. Haldor would not answer his king from the hall and he stared at Lord Túven until the counselor reluctantly stepped back, allowing him entry.

Haldor stepped inside to find the King at his desk looking over a parchment, either oblivious or disinterested in Túven's little display of power at the door.

"My king," Haldor bowed, but the gesture went unacknowledged as Thranduil continued to read the parchment in front of him. "It is Lady Caladhel, niece of Lord Celeborn who comes. What news she carries was not told me, only that she has been instructed to deliver it to you."

At this news Thranduil's head rose and the matter on the parchment forgotten. "Where is she now?"

"She waits in the Great Hall," said Haldor.

"Bring word to her that I will see her shortly," he said, dismissing the warden with a wave.

Haldor bowed again, and, glancing briefly at Lord Túven, he departed to fulfill his command.

Túven closed the door behind the warden and Thranduil could see the sour expression forming on his face. "You look troubled. Have I something to fear from a daughter of Lórien?" Thranduil had never met Lord Celeborn's niece, but if she were like her cousin, he was sure to find her fair and tiresome enough.

Túven returned his full attention to the King. "He would not send that elleth without a deeper purpose."

"Those are bold words, Túven," said the King, intrigued. "Have you some knowledge of her to back them up?"

"She was at the last council with men, before Isildur fell."

"And?" the King prompted, expecting more from his counselor's concern than that.

"She is the one who learned Isildur kept the One Ring."

Here Thranduil's countenance darkened. It had been Túven who brought word to Thranduil about the Ring's fate. Thranduil had cursed Elrond for keeping the secret from him in the intervening years, for with that ring the Shadow could rise again. It was his business as an Elvenking to know such things. If it had been Thranduil, he would have cast Isildur and that cursed ring into the fire, but Elrond Half-elven let the man walk away. "What do you mean, she is the one?"

"She heard some of his counselors speak of the pain he suffered carrying it."

This disturbed Thranduil greatly, for he knew that many wise and ancient elven lords had been called to that meeting. How was it they were unable to discover this secret while this elleth could? He wanted to know and with each passing moment his suspicion of Celeborn's courier grew to exceed that even of his counselor. "Tell me, Túven, what else do you know of this Lady of Lórien?"


	4. Diplomatic Relations

**Chapter 3: Diplomatic Relations  
**

When Caladhel finally withdrew her gaze from the ceiling she found it drawn next to the throne carved into the far wall. The dais was well over her head and there were stairs carved into the rock leading up to it. Above the chair were hung the antlers of some great beast Caladhel did not recognize. They were far larger than those of any deer she had ever seen so the animal bearing them had to be mighty indeed. The carvings upon the chair and stairs were ornate but natural in form, as one would expect from elven artisans.

The design did not bother Caladhel nor did the antlers, but the height of the throne did not sit well with her. She had seen the throne of Isildur in the north and the throne the High King of the Noldor had in Lindon, before he fell. Their thrones were seats of great power, and rightly so for the mightiest rulers of men and elves, but neither one had put their seat so much higher above the heads of their people. It did not bode well, but Caladhel decided to withhold judgment for now, not knowing whether the throne had been commissioned by King Thranduil or his father and knowing also how different a parent can be from their child.

A few minutes later Haldor returned and informed Caladhel that the king would see her shortly. He and Haldir began to speak of their respective watches and the news both gathered from afar. Caladhel left the wardens to their conversation. She was certain Haldir would appreciate a few hours talking with someone else after the many days and nights they had spent traveling together. She was admiring a sculpture carved into one of the stone pillars when her musings were interrupted.

"Lady Caladhel."

Caladhel turned at the sound of a familiar voice to find Lord Túven greeting her. "Lord Túven, it has been some time. I hope you fare well."

He took her arm in his and patted her hand genially. "I do, lady, and I hope all is well with you and your kin."

"Aye, my lord, it is."

"The King's steward has already been informed of your arrival. He will have rooms and baths prepared for you after you speak with the King."

"My escort, Haldir, and I are grateful for both. I thank you."

Here Túven turned his gaze on the warden speaking with Haldor. "Haldor," he called the ellon to attention.

Haldor turned at the sound of Túven's voice calling his name. "Yes, my lord."

"Why don't you take the warden and find Galion. He is preparing rooms for our guests and I am sure Haldir would appreciate some rest and a bath. I will stay with the Lady."

Both wardens knew a dismissal when they heard one, but Haldir was clearly hesitant to leave his charge.

Caladhel nodded at him, giving him leave to go. "I will find you later, Haldir."

Haldir, still clearly displeased, bowed to the Lord and Lady and followed Haldor out the door.

"He is a stubborn one, isn't he?"

Caladhel suppressed her irritation at Túven's remark. She was also annoyed by his dismissal of Haldir without first introducing himself. His rudeness did not surprise her, however. He was well known for his habit of dismissing those he thought beneath him.

"He is Lord Thandaer's eldest son and second after him among our wardens."

"Really?"

Caladhel thought she saw a moment's regret in his eyes but if it had been there at all, it disappeared quickly. While Túven might brush off a lowly warden, she was near certain he would seek to introduce himself to Lord Thandaer's son. She was about to respond when a voice called out from across the hall.

"What news of Lórien?"

Caladhel turned to find King Thranduil seated upon his throne. She had not heard him enter, nor climb the stair, and was surprised that no one had announced him. She wondered briefly if there was not some hidden door behind the throne she could not see that permitted him to enter silently.

She bowed respectfully as did Túven. When she lifted her eyes she found herself held by the King's gaze. His face was impassive, his pale blue eyes, unreadable. He wore a crown that resembled the branches of twisted vines and brambles. It was clearly not made of wood, but she could not tell the details of its make from so great a distance. Within his crown were woven wildflowers of gold the likes of which she had seen upon the mountainside. If the touch of color was meant to soften his countenance it did not succeed, if anything, it made the lines of his face appear harder and his gaze sharper when set against the softness of the flower petals.

Caladhel had heard his question but did not answer immediately, believing that Túven would introduce her to his king, but as time lengthened, and he made no such gesture, she chose to introduce herself.

"King Thranduil. I am Lady Caladhel, daughter of Calathiel, sister of Lord Celeborn of Lórien. I bring word to you from my uncle."

"And that word is?"

Caladhel had expected a greeting, but clearly that was expecting too much. "My cousin, Lady Celebrían, is to marry Lord Elrond of Imladris on the vernal equinox. Both houses extend their invitation to the King of the Greenwood and his court to join them in Lothlórien on this joyous occasion."

Caladhel watched the King's expression for any sign her words disturbed him and was rewarded with a momentary spasm in his jaw when she spoke Elrond's name.

"News, indeed," said Túven, who stood now at the foot of the dais.

Caladhel did not miss the hint of disgust in his voice, but he said no more. It was the King who spoke next.

"I oft thought the daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel to be fair and foolish," he said. "It would seem I was right in my regard."

The King's insult struck Caladhel hard. She had not been expecting it and her anger at his rudeness must have reached her eyes for a cold smile formed on the King's face.

"You disagree?"

Caladhel did her utmost to calm herself before replying. It would do no good to allow her anger free rein. "I disagree that she is foolish, else one might call all who give their hearts in love fools – and I am not so bold as to do so. As for the first part, my cousin is by far the fairest lady I have ever known."

"Our cousin Lúthien was fairer," Thranduil replied, "though by now even her bones have crumbled to dust, for that is the fate that awaits those who join their blood to a mortal."

Caladhel bristled at the King's cruel, if not accurate words. There was, however, one fact he was ignoring. "Lord Elrond is not mortal," she replied, and with that name the muscle in his jaw trembled once more.

"He may yet become so, should he choose this shore over the other when our time in this world has passed."

His answer silenced her protest. Caladhel knew he was right and that this very thought was the reason her uncle feared his daughter's marriage to Elrond. She knew also that Elrond had assured him he would never choose such a fate.

Caladhel drew her uncle's letters from the pocket of her tunic, hoping to end their argument, for though he had asked her opinion she felt it unwise to continue drawing his ire.

"I have these to give you, also, my lord."

"You concede then, that I am right?" the King asked, viewing her change of subject as assent.

Thranduil's expression had come alive in a sneer of triumph and self-righteousness. They were the only emotions, besides mild irritation, he had bothered to convey during their conversation. They twisted his features, and his face, one that might have been beautiful had his eyes and mouth the kindness to smile, became a cruel mask.

Caladhel could not say what madness overcame her in that moment for she knew by the look in his eyes that this king was accustomed to winning most any argument. She could have told him she thought him right, instead she answered, "I concede only that you are not wrong."

A whirlwind of emotions passed behind the King's eyes and for a second Caladhel feared she had stirred him to fury, but slowly the emotion settled and his face became the same cool, expressionless mask it had been when he first spoke to her. He held out his hand.

The gesture surprised Caladhel for she had forgotten she still held her uncle's correspondence. Once again she expected Lord Túven to intervene, but he made no move to retrieve the letters.

Caladhel approached the dais and climbed the ten steps until she stood one down from the platform. She did not know the Greenwood protocol for such things and would not step upon the dais uninvited. The King said nothing to her, merely gazed down upon her from where he sat reclining, his right leg crossed over his left. She thought he regarded her as a man might an insect beneath his feet. She had been dismayed at how readily their boots came down upon the helpless creatures they referred to as pests. At the moment, it felt an apt comparison.

To her surprise, the King rose from his seat in one fluid motion and took a step toward her. At his full height and standing so near he now towered over her and she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. He took the letters from her and surprised her again when he spoke.

"We are having a banquet tonight in your honor, but you have a few hours to bathe and rest before it begins."

Caladhel was not expecting a party after the conversation they had just had, nor was she prepared for one. "Your Highness is gracious," she said, careful of her words, "but my escort and I traveled light and are expected to return home immediately. I have only my riding clothes, nothing fit for your court."

He waved her concern away with a flick of his hand. "You will have suitable attire provided to you."

Caladhel suppressed the urge to argue. "Thank you," she said and bowed. The King returned to his throne, turning his attention to Celeborn's letter. He did not dismiss her, but she guessed his lack of attention was dismissal enough. She turned and descended the stair.

When she reached the bottom Lord Túven finally stepped forward to offer her some aid. "I will show you to your quarters."

Caladhel nodded and followed him out the door and though she never looked back she thought she felt the King's eyes upon her back.


	5. A Fine Vintage

**Chapter 4: A Fine Vintage**

Caladhel began more and more to regret how she had handled her conversation with the King. She replayed the meeting over in her mind as she bathed, trying to find a way she could have turned it in a more positive direction. If such a moment existed, she could not find it, though she knew she could have ended it better than her stubborn refusal to let him win the argument.

Still, there was something about the whole encounter that made her uneasy. In hindsight, it felt as if Túven and Thranduil had been playing a game with her from the start. She had seen Túven follow all manner of varied protocols when at the courts of men and elves. She did not imagine the Court of Thranduil had none. On the contrary, it felt to her now as if they had been waiting for her to make a misstep. Her thoughts returned more than once to the dais and each time she wondered what punishment had awaited her should she have stepped upon it without the King's consent.

Caladhel finished her bath feeling cleaner but no less troubled. She dried her long hair as best she could and then wrapped it in a towel. She pulled on the robe a servant had placed in the bathroom for her. When she returned to the bedroom she startled, surprised, for she had a visitor. An elleth with blond hair was laying out dresses on her bed. Her attention shifted to Caladhel when she entered. The elleth smiled.

"Greetings, Lady Caladhel," she said. "I am Lady Beleth, sister of King Oropher and wife of Lord Túven, high counselor to the crown."

Caladhel, cautious now after her earlier encounter, dipped her head in polite acknowledgement. "It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady."

"Beleth, please," she said, waving the title off. "We are kin from afar."

"Then I am Caladhel."

Beleth smiled at her kindly and gestured to the dresses she had laid out upon the bed. "The King asked me to find something for you to wear to dinner. I brought a few things that might suit you."

"Thank you," Caladhel said. "My uncle wished my swift return. I packed nothing but travel clothes." She was uneasy about the coming meal and now wished she had brought something of her own to make her feel more comfortable.

"No need to explain, dear," Beleth replied. "Saddlebags wrinkle dresses terribly. I would have left mine behind as well."

Caladhel conceded the Lady was correct. Had she brought a dress, it would have taken a week to get the wrinkles out.

"I see you've had your bath." Beleth studied Caladhel's eyes and complexion, noting the brown tendrils flecked with silver that her towel had failed to hold back. She turned back to the dresses and chose one with silver and green floral accents. "Let us try this on you and then I will plait your hair."

Caladhel allowed the Lady to help her into the gown. Aid was not strictly necessary, for the dress design was not so complicated as to require a second pair of hands. It fit her form perfectly and was quite lovely, or so Caladhel thought, though somewhat different in design from those made by the Galadhrim.

Beleth sat Caladhel down before the mirror, and taking the towel from her head, began brushing out her hair. She studied the Lórien lady's reflection for a few moments before catching the younger elleth's eye in the mirror. "You have the look of your mother," she said, "though not so much her coloring."

"You knew my mother?" Caladhel asked, surprised by the revelation. She had met Lord Túven more than once over the past age and he had never revealed he was married or that his wife knew her kin.

"We both served as handmaids to Melian when she walked the world," Beleth replied by way of explanation. "Does Lady Calathiel dwell now in Lórien?"

Caladhel made to shake her head but her hair was caught up in Beleth's hands. "No," she replied. "She sailed west with my father after Eregion fell. She grew weary of war and my father went with her, for they could not bear to be parted. I remained with my uncle, for I did not wish to leave Middle-earth."

Beleth nodded, so many of their kind had gone west when Morgoth fell, during the long war with Sauron, and after. With every age that passed and every great evil fought, the elves' hold on Middle-earth diminished. Beleth knew it would not be long before their people vanished from the world completely. It was a woeful thought and she chased it away with another question.

"He was a Lord of the Noldor, your father, no?" She thought so, both from some vague memory of the ellon and the particular tone of his daughter's hair. It was a deep, rich brown, a hue more common to the Noldor than the Sindar. "A servant of Finarfin's house if I recall."

"Yes. He came with Finrod to Middle-earth. When Finrod died, he came to serve Galadriel and so he met my mother when she wed Celeborn."

Somewhere in the great storeroom of Beleth's mind there was a memory of Caladhel's father. She recalled it now. He had been one of Finrod's guards who would escort Galadriel back and forth between Doriath and her brother's house. It was upon one of these journeys that he and Calathiel met.

"I look forward to seeing your mother again one day across the sea."

"So do I," Caladhel replied.

Silence fell between them for a time while Beleth worked on her hair. Caladhel was surprised to find Lord Túven's wife so pleasant, for she found the counselor to be quite the opposite. It struck Caladhel strange, the mysterious force that drew two souls together.

Knowing she would never ask Lord Túven, but curious now, she asked, "Do you have any children, Beleth?"

Beleth's mild expression darkened considerably and Caladhel knew immediately her question was ill chosen. "I had a son," she replied. "He fell at Dagorlad with his uncle, alongside many of our warriors."

"I am so sorry," Caladhel said, cursing her stupidity.

"So am I," Beleth replied. She met Caladhel's eyes in the mirror and forced a wan smile upon her face. "But if the Noldor are to be believed, then I will see him again across the sea."

Caladhel wished to reassure her but the pain in the Lady's eyes looked well beyond comforting. "It will be so."

The lady smiled, but her eyes told Caladhel she did not wholly believe. Caladhel was well aware that not all elves believed the tales of rebirth brought to them out of the West. She could not blame them. It was a hard thing for the Dark Elves of Middle-earth to trust a story told by a people who had more than once lied to and betrayed them.

That final thought made Caladhel suddenly uneasy, for though she had lived most her life among Sindar and Silvan elves, half her blood came from across the sea. The Galadhrim of Lothlórien were a people with bloodlines crossing all three races, though Silvan was by far the predominant. The same could not be said of the elves who dwelled in Greenwood, who were mostly Silvan in origin, but for their lords who carried primarily Sindarin blood. It occurred to Caladhel then that it may not matter to those here that her father played no part in the kinslayings of ages past. They may still look on her with suspicion.

"There," said Beleth, interrupting Caladhel's dark thoughts. "I think you are ready."

* * *

Beleth escorted Caladhel to the banquet and this time all manner of protocol was upheld. Lord Túven, himself, introduced Caladhel to the gathered crowd with a toast. He then proceeded to draw her around the room, introducing her to others she had never met. Caladhel did her best to remember the name of each lord and lady. Her circuit was halted when the King arrived. He was announced with great ceremony.

When he stepped up to his seat at the table he caught her eye. He was majestic in long flowing robes and his crown had been adorned with blue flowers to match his wardrobe. He wore a diamond necklace and rings upon his hands made of gold and mithril, which bore remarkable gems. She hoped the irritation she felt towards him and Túven did not show in her eyes. For after witnessing the greetings of the court this evening she was now convinced that her unusual reception earlier in the day had a purpose. What that purpose was, however, she could not say.

Lord Túven led her to her seat at the high table. She sat three places from the King. Only Beleth and Túven sat between them. The King offered words to his court and some trite welcome to Caladhel, though she made sure her expression reflected only graciousness at his words. The King bid the feast begin and all were freed to touch their dinnerware.

Galion, the head Steward of Thranduil's court began by pouring a glass of wine for the King. He filled Túven's glass next and Beleth's but when he came to Caladhel's side she set her hand over the glass.

"None for me, thank you. Just water, please."

Caladhel was surprised when the King spoke, admonishing her for her gesture. "You must try one cup, Lady Caladhel," said the King. "This wine comes from the east, north of the sea of Rhûn where grow the greatest vineyards in all Middle-earth. You will not taste its like in Lórien."

Caladhel had a long ride on the morrow and wine had a tendency to go to her head. She had thought water best given she would be travelling.

Beleth smiled at Caladhel in an attempt to reassure her. "It really is quite good."

Caladhel knew she could not refuse Thranduil's offer and was not about to start an argument over one glass. "If the King commands it." She removed her hand from the goblet and Galion filled the small cup before moving on to the next guest.

* * *

An hour into dinner, the dancing began. Every time Caladhel returned to her seat and started speaking with Beleth another lord asked her to dance. She was gracious and accepted each invitation. Beleth was pleased the Lady was so well received. She thought Celeborn's niece to be a charming dinner partner for her ease with conversation. The lords who asked to dance with her clearly thought her lovely and Beleth was pleased to think her choice of dress and assistance with her hair played a part in their regard.

There was only one unpleasant note to the entire evening and that was Galion, for he milled about behind the high table, never taking his seat at the table below.

He came again to her side for what must have been the sixth time refilling Caladhel's glass with the Dor-winion wine. "Will you stop that Galion," she shouted and placed her hand over the elleth's glass. "She has had enough."

"I am sorry, my lady," Galion stammered. A look of unease formed on his face. "I was told to keep her goblet full."

"Told," Beleth echoed, now thoroughly annoyed. "Told by who?"

Here Galion hesitated but the look in Beleth's eye was withering. "By your husband, my lady."

"My husband?" Beleth's focus turned from Galion to the room. Her eyes searched the assembled court for her husband. She found him standing with a group of counselors but his attention was not on the conversation. His eyes were on Lady Caladhel as she danced with one of the young Lords of Greenwood. Beleth did not care for the look on his face. She rose from her seat and made a line straight for him. He saw her coming from ten paces away and looked to brace himself for what he no doubt already knew was coming. He stepped away from the ellyn he was with to meet her.

"What are you up to?" She kept her voice low so no others might hear, but her tone was sharp.

"Can you be more specific?"

His bland reaction angered her even more. "The wine."

Túven's brow arched. "Is it a crime to be sure a guest is well attended?" he asked, only half-heartedly pretending he had no idea what she meant.

"You know how strong that vintage is," Beleth replied. "You will make her sick."

"No elf ever died of a headache," he replied, dismissing her concern and her anger all at once.

"I am not so sure of that," she replied.

At her words, Túven sighed. He loved Beleth for her passionate nature, but sometimes her thoughtless intervening in his work wearied him. He took her arm in his, drew her closer and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I assure you, love, my intention is not to injure Celeborn's kinswoman, merely to knock her off balance."

"Why?" she asked, curious now what it was her husband saw in the Lórien Lady that she did not.

"I do not trust her," he said.

Beleth shook her head. She pulled her arm from her husband's grasp and stepped away. "You are being absurd. I shall speak to the King."

Annoyed himself now, Túven took hold of his wife's arm again and spoke directly into her ear. "You will find that avenue disappointing. You would know that already if you knew your nephew better."

Here Beleth cast her sight on Thranduil and found his eyes upon Caladhel as she spoke to other counselors of the court. The King's eyes left his guest only briefly, to acknowledge Galion once again topping off the Lady's glass.

Beleth removed her arm from her husband's hand and left him to seek Caladhel's company. She stayed at the elleth's side for the remainder of the evening, noting that every sip she took was within minutes replenished. Beleth had thought to warn her off but her husband's eyes cautioned her against it.

Instead Beleth appointed herself the Lady's watchful guardian, noting when another hour passed that a glow had come to Caladhel's cheek. She was well into forgetfulness at that point, which was part of the drink's power. Caladhel would not recall how many sips she had taken, only that her glass was still full. Beleth shot her nephew a dark look of disapproval when once that evening she caught his eye, but Thranduil gave neither indication he noticed her displeasure, nor that he cared.

Once the King took his leave and it was acceptable for others to retire, Beleth took Caladhel's arm in hers and pulled her out the door. "I will lead you to your rooms."

Beleth guessed the Lady had drunk six full goblets by that time, and while Caladhel had maintained her quiet reserve the entire evening, Beleth could see that the Lady's eyes were now clouded and she found Caladhel pliant as she pulled her along to bed.

"Thank you," said Caladhel. "I do not think I could find my way alone."

"No thanks are necessary," Beleth replied. "You are our guest." Not that her husband and nephew had treated her like one. Beleth's anger burned in her again and she needed no foresight to predict the round of shouting in store when next she saw her mate.

Caladhel floated along beside the Lady who led her, feeling altogether exhausted. Her mind was heavy and the torch lights in the hall danced in a blur as she passed them along the way.

When they reached her door, Caladhel bid Beleth goodnight. "Thank you, again, for your kindness."

"Do you wish me to assist you?" Beleth asked, still concerned for the elleth's state and for fear it might worsen.

Caladhel shook her head and then regretted it as the hall began a slow spin. "I can manage the gown," she replied, thinking that the reason for Beleth's offer. "Good night."

"Good night," Beleth echoed before departing.

* * *

Caladhel found that a fire was already burning in the small hearth of her room and that her blankets were turned down. The fire was the only light and it gave the room a not altogether displeasing glow although she found it difficult to focus her eyes in the flickering light. Caladhel would have preferred starlight to the fire, but she did not bother to dwell on the matter. She would have the stars again tomorrow.

Caladhel first removed the jewelry she wore that evening. It was not much, but it was all she had brought with her – her mother's ring and a bracelet from her father. She would never leave them behind. They were precious reminders of her loved ones across the sea. She laid them in a delicately carved bowl resting upon the dresser. In the back of the room was an alcove that hid the private bath. There a fountain with water flowed from the rock and back down into a cavern below. She washed her face to ready for bed, too tired to do more than that.

She returned to the bed and holding onto one post, tried to remove her left shoe. She stumbled in the dark.

"I think you have had too much wine."

Caladhel jumped at the sound of his voice and turned in the direction from whence it came. He stood against the wall among the shadows and she struggled to see him in the dim light and through the haze that clouded her mind. She had not heard the door. Had he been there the entire time?

Thranduil was now dressed in simple robes and wore not his crown, nor any of the fine jewelry that adorned him earlier that night. Caladhel was unsure how to interpret the change.

"What are you doing here?" The question came out harshly, but the King did not appear to mind. She could scarcely be expected to maintain proper decorum when he violated her privacy so brazenly.

"I came to talk," he said, simply, as if that was an appropriate reason to hide in the shadows of a stranger's bedchamber.

"About what?" For all her wit, Caladhel could not fathom the answer.

"About you," he replied, and standing to full height, moved away from the wall and into the light. The red hue of the fire lit his silver hair, giving it a terrible glow, like a painting Caladhel had once seen of dragon scales.

"I have heard news of you from my counselors," he continued. "They say you are Celeborn's spy."

"What?" she spit out the word, unable to keep her irritation from reaching her voice. Her head was spinning and not from his accusation alone.

"Do not look so offended," Thranduil replied. "Spy was the word your kinsmen used, not mine. They heard it said of you by your Lórien lords following the council in Arnor."

* * *

Thranduil had been studying Caladhel carefully since she first entered the room. He believed his plan a failure at first, that was, before he caught her stumble on the way to the washroom. When her balance faltered, he smiled.

The Lady had demonstrated great skill and wit at their first meeting. Only a mere hint of irritation could be seen in her eyes when he insulted her cousin, but she did not allow it freedom in her voice and he had waited a full minute for her to take that final step up to his throne. He counted the seconds, but she kept her feet on the last step without being told to do so. His only indication that their meeting had truly vexed her was her final answer to his challenge. She could have told him what he wanted to hear, but the answer she offered, while it angered him, was a perfect retort. It was both a yes and a no. Túven, himself, could have been no cleverer. But no elf, no matter how shrewd, was immune to the effects of Thranduil's favorite vintage.

The wine had accomplished what Thranduil wanted. He could now read every thought and emotion in her eyes. He took another step toward Caladhel out of the darkness. This time she matched his advance with retreat. Stepping back, she stumbled once more. Only her hand upon the bedpost steadied her.

"I think you should sit, else you might fall."

She stilled then and her eyes rose to lock with his. Suspicion had finally found her. "I had but one glass," she said.

Thranduil smirked. "It is a strong brew."

She lifted a hand to her head and swayed a bit. Her hand gripped the post tighter. "What did you put in it?"

Thranduil was amused by her presumption. "Nothing," he said. "I merely instructed Galion to ensure your goblet was ever full."

Here her gaze came to rest on the fire. Her eyes blinked rapidly. He knew she was having trouble with the light. The wine had that effect. He knew, also, where her thoughts were now – back at the banquet. She was trying to remember how many sips she had. She would not be able to count them. The wine had that effect, too.

He waited until he saw her eyes flutter closed before he asked. "Are you here to spy on me, Caladhel?"

Her eyes opened again and Thranduil saw fury ignite in them. The emotion was enhanced by the fire's light. "You know why I am here," she spat, "to deliver my message and return with your response."

"And that is all?" He did not believe her despite her sharp words and the angry set of her jaw.

"Those are my instructions," she replied.

"Indeed. But perhaps not Celeborn's whole purpose."

"And what purpose do you imagine he has?"

_What purpose, indeed._ In two strides Thranduil stood before Caladhel and he took hold of the arm clutching the post with his left hand so she had no retreat. "I think he hopes to distract me with a pretty face," he sneered, glaring down at her.

His right hand came up and took hold of her chin below the jaw, forcing her head back. She gasped, surprise shutting out the anger that previously burned in her eyes. He leaned in close. "I am not so much a fool to be lulled by beauty," he hissed, "for I know what may lie underneath."

Thranduil did not know at what precise moment his anger overcame him, but it had been lurking under the surface the entire time. Her refusal to admit guilt had been the limit of his restraint. Her free hand took hold of his, and he felt her nails bite into his wrist, but she would not break his hold on her. The surprise clear in her eyes only a moment ago had turned to fear and a tear ran down her left cheek.

Good.

"What would you have told him upon your return?" he growled, believing she would tell him now, if ever.

He loosened his grip a small measure for her to speak, and she did. "I would say you care not who my cousin marries, but you hate Elrond and think yourself above him."

"And what else?" he pressed.

He watched as her earlier anger warred with the fear she felt now. And the drink, having freed her tongue and clouded her judgment, allowed her anger to win out. "I would also tell him you are less of a king than that fool adan who kept the Ring!"

Thranduil released her face and arm with a force that caused Caladhel to fall to the ground. His hands clenched into fists. He knew this fury had to be leashed else he lose control entirely. He bit it back, the urge to lash out, else he do something he would truly regret, or worse, reveal to Celeborn's spy his most guarded secret of all.

When he finally had control of himself again, he spoke. "You will remain here until I find out what Celeborn is up to."

Her eyes grew wide and the fear in them took account of more than the immediate danger. "I was to leave on the morrow."

"You are not leaving," he said.

"My uncle."

"I will send word along with your warden."

She shook her head. "Haldir will not leave without me." Her countenance shifted slightly, and there was something in her expression that looked to Thranduil less like fear and more like concern.

"He will," Thranduil replied, "else he desire a stay in my dungeon."

Here now he did see concern. Thranduil had not met this warden who escorted Caladhel to his halls but he suspected now the ellon might pose a problem. He would deal with it in the morning.

And as for the Lady of Lórien... "There is no escape from my magic doors for those who are once brought inside.* You will remain in Limrond until I see fit to release you."

He turned, leaving her there on the floor, and shutting the door upon her, locked it from the outside.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ *Yes, I cribbed a line from The Hobbit.  
_


	6. Mistakes

**Chapter 5: Mistakes**

Haldir had his travel bags packed along with a store of lembas from the King's kitchen. He awaited Lady Caladhel, who had sent him word late the previous night to meet her at first light at the front gate. He had been waiting for a short time now but was unconcerned. Given their current dwelling's underground location, it was difficult to know precisely when dawn occurred.

"Warden."

Haldir turned to find Lord Túven approaching him. He learned the counselor's name from Haldor, for the ellon had failed to introduce himself the day before.

"Lord Túven." He greeted the ellon with a bow. When Haldir rose he took note of two things – the counselor's contemptuous expression, and the four guards who had gathered around them. He needed no one to tell him something was wrong. "Where is Lady Caladhel?"

"She will not be returning with you," Túven replied. "You will deliver this letter to Lord Celeborn."

The counselor held the letter out to him but Haldir did not reach for it. "I cannot return without her," said Haldir. "If she is to stay I will remain with her."

The King had warned Túven that the Lórien guard could be a problem, but the counselor had known that already. He had seen the ellon's reluctance to leave his lady's side even when she, herself, had dismissed him. "You will leave these halls today, warden. You are welcome here no longer."

Haldir took a step closer to Túven. The guards mirrored his action, stepping closer to him. "I would speak with my lady first."

Túven dismissed his request. "The Lady is not receiving visitors."

"She will see me," Haldir replied.

"She will see no one!"

Haldir had not had an opportunity before this moment to study King Thranduil's high counselor. He did so now, and he did not like what he saw. Haldir marked in the ancient elf's eyes something more dangerous than anger. He saw power, the surety of it. It did not lie in his arm, but in his command.

Haldir knew he would not win this fight, but that knowledge did not stop him from trying. "I will not leave without her."

Túven was tired of arguing with this petty servant who thought himself a hero. "The King thought you might say that."

Túven lifted his hand and the four guards who had surrounded Haldir closed in. Two of them stepped forward to take hold of his arms but Haldir struck first, laying the ellon to his right out flat on his back. It was not enough. One guard landed a blow on Haldir's face with an armored hand and another struck him in the back with the butt of his sword. The blow brought Haldir to his knees. Two guards took hold of his arms and the ellon he struck first kicked him hard in the stomach with an armored boot.

"Stop this! Now!" a voice commanded from the entryway.

The guard who kicked Haldir stepped away, but the two who held his arms did not release him. Haldir heard more than one ellon approach from the door and a familiar face dropped to a knee in front of him.

"Are you well?" Haldor asked, checking the gash on his face.

Haldir did not answer. His eyes sought Thranduil's counselor, but Lord Túven's attention was currently on the ellon who stayed the guards.

"Lord Iordor," Túven said in greeting, though there was not much welcome in his voice.

Haldir had not yet met the captain of Greenwood's guards, but Haldor's father reminded him much of his own, tall and stern. He had clearly just arrived from the watches for he wore the same style clothes Haldor had when they met on the Forest Road.

"What is going on here?" The scene before him disgusted Iordor and he knew without question where the blame lay.

Túven was unfazed by Iordor's anger. "The King commands this warden from Lórien be sent back home, but he has refused to leave."

Iordor was not satisfied with Túven's explanation. "And why would he be willing to take a beating to remain here? Does he long for your continued company?"

"Lady Caladhel," Haldor said, interrupting his father. She was nowhere in sight and Haldor knew she and Haldir were meant to be departing. He rose from the ground, addressing Túven. "Where is she?"

"Who is she?" Iordor added. He was trying to put the pieces of this puzzle together and this lady appeared to be the key.

"She is Lord Celeborn's niece," said Túven to Iordor, "and his spy. The King has seen fit to detain her."

"He's done what?" Iordor could not believe what he was hearing. He wanted to knock Túven's teeth in, convinced this madness was in no small part his doing.

"You forget yourself, Iordor," Túven snapped. "You have no authority to question the King's orders. You will do his bidding and see this warden removed from our land."

Iordor was angered by Túven's words and in no small part by the power he held over the court. But Iordor composed himself. The counselor was right in one thing. He would not disregard the King's order. "It will be done."

Túven handed Iordor the King's letter for Celeborn, and without so much as a glance at Haldir, he departed.

Iordor moved to stand before Haldir, addressing him. "Warden, if I have these guards release you, will you leave quietly?"

Haldir's head rose to meet the captain's eyes. He saw no malice in them, only duty and honor. When he spoke he kept his voice calm but firm. He did not wish this lord to think he acted merely out of anger. "No," he answered. "I will not."

"Haldir, don't do this," said Haldor. "It will not help her."

Iordor cast his son a sidelong glance, judging rightly that he and Haldir had met more than this once.

Iordor spoke first to the guards. "Remove his weapons and bind his arms." And to his son he said, "Take a guard and escort your friend to the edge of the forest. You may return his weapons there. Be sure he leaves. If he tries to re-enter Greenwood, send him to the Valar."

Haldor frowned at his father, but nodded at his command.

Iordor returned his attention to Haldir. He dropped to one knee and tucked King Thranduil's letter carefully into Haldir's chest pocket, then he met the Lórien warden's eyes. "I am sorry for your treatment here, warden. I wish you a safe and swift journey home."

Haldir acknowledged the Greenwood captain's apology and travel blessing with a nod. Others might have found them odd, given Iordor had also ordered his son to kill Haldir should he return to the wood. Haldir understood. Duty was not always kind.

* * *

None in Caras Galadhon liked to interrupt Celeborn and Galadriel when they were spending time together alone, so Celeborn knew the knock at their door to be urgent. He did not rise immediately. His wife lay reclining against his chest, her head tucked under his chin. Their conversations of late had run more often than not in the direction of their daughter's wedding, but tonight they were stargazing. It had been Galadriel's suggestion to set work aside for a few blessed hours. Her fingers entwined in his as they lay upon a settee on their private terrace. He lifted her hand to his lips.

"Perhaps if we ignore them, they will go away," he whispered in Galadriel's ear but no sooner had he done so than the knocking came again, louder the second time.

Galadriel sighed and sat up, allowing her husband to escape from the seat behind her. Her eyes followed him to the door but she made no motion to stand.

Celeborn opened the door to find Haldir on the other side. He did not have to ask if something was wrong. Haldir's expression was wrought with dark emotion and he still bore a cut on his face surrounded by the green and purple tones of a fading bruise. He took the ellon's arm and drew him inside, shutting the door behind him.

"What happened?"

"He would not allow her to return with me."

"What do you mean?"

"King Thranduil. He would not allow Caladhel to leave the Greenwood." He held out the letter he had been given to his lord. Celeborn tore the letter open and turned aside to read it.

A hand came to rest on Haldir's cheek. Lady Galadriel stood beside him and he met her worried gaze.

"What happened to your face?" She had heard their conversation from the terrace.

Haldir lifted a hand to his cheek where the lady's fingers lingered. He knew there was a bruise there though it was fading quickly. He could not bear to look her in the eye when he answered. "I refused to leave her, but was not given any choice. They took me to the edge of the Greenwood and kept their bows trained on me until I departed. They would have fired had I tried to reenter the forest. I thought to turn back, but I had to tell you what happened."

Galadriel lifted his chin and found his eyes. She caressed the bruise on his face, doing what she could to ease what pain remained there and the pain deeper still. She could see he was tormented. The guilt and shame he felt at abandoning Caladhel lay heavy on his heart and mind. "You did right, Haldir, to bring us this news. Do not hold yourself to blame for what happened. It was not you who sent her to the Greenwood."

Galadriel glanced back over her shoulder to find her husband seated at his desk. He was angry and his heart was heavier than Haldir's. She returned her attention to the warden, drawing him to the door. "Go now to the healer and then take some rest. We will speak again tomorrow."

Haldir bowed to his lord and lady but before he departed he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Galadriel acknowledged his words with a nod. She knew he needed to say it though he had done no wrong. She closed the door behind him and turned back to her husband.

Galadriel came to her husband's side. Thranduil's letter lay open on the table but Celeborn was no longer looking at it. His thoughts had turned inward. She reached down to pick up the letter and read Thranduil's message to them. When she was done she returned the parchment to its place on the desk.

"Why did you send her, Celeborn?" It was a question Galadriel had pondered since her niece delivered the news she would be traveling. Galadriel thought it an odd task to give Caladhel when Haldir or another could deliver Celeborn's letter. She had suspected her husband had some other motive, but at the time she did not pry. She wished now that she had.

"I thought it a better use of her talents," he replied. "You have enough seamstresses."

There was an edge to his voice. She felt his anger, directed mostly at Thranduil, some at himself, but also at her. Galadriel felt suddenly grateful for the past few hours they had spent gazing at the stars, for she suspected that peace between them would not return for a long time.

"You avoid my question."

He did. He wanted to. He couldn't. Celeborn lifted his hands to his face and rubbed his temples in hopes of relieving the pressure there. "I wished to gauge his reaction to Celebrían's marriage," he confessed. "Enemies have been made over more trivial matters."

Galadriel had suspected as much when he asked Caladhel to take word to the Greenwood. He trusted her to discover what he wanted to know. _He trusted her._ That trust was well earned, though it brought discord between Galadriel and her husband afterward. Galadriel was certain Thranduil's counselors knew Caladhel's name and the secret she uncovered in Arnor.

"Did you not consider Thranduil might see some darker purpose in your choice of messenger?" she asked. "He was greatly angered by the knowledge Elrond withheld from him after the war."

Celeborn's anger flared, and this measure was reserved wholly for his wife. "Thranduil was not the only one angered," he replied. "I had not thought to learn such news from Caladhel."

They had had this argument before, more than a century ago. "It was a mistake," she said. "I make them too sometimes."

Galadriel had wounded Celeborn deeply by keeping the secret of the Ring from him. It had been the will of the other ringbearers, not her own, though for the safety of all she agreed to keep silent. Now she feared that choice would remain a wedge between them forever. She prayed it would not.

Galadriel stretched out her hand to Celeborn's, fearing he would not accept it. Her heart sang joyous when he did. He turned his palm up so that their fingers entwined as they had on the terrace only minutes ago. That small embrace meant more to Galadriel than she could measure. She stepped closer to his chair and laid her other hand on his shoulder. The anxiety he felt at Caladhel's fate could be felt there.

"Caladhel's talents are, as you noted, more rightly suited to politics than art. Thranduil's counselors no doubt remember her as the one who brought word of the Ring. And you forget that she is my niece, too, though Thranduil would not have forgotten. Taken together, he may see her as a greater threat than we do."

The obviousness of his wife's assertion was clear to him now. He knew Thranduil, like his father before him, was wary of outsiders, but in this matter Celeborn had seriously misjudged the Greenwood king's level of distrust.

"I should not have sent her."

Galadriel tucked a loose strand of silver hair behind his ear. She could say nothing that would ease his conscience. She closed her eyes, focusing all her thoughts on Caladhel but could sense no immediate danger.

"Have you seen anything of this in your mirror?" Celeborn would not have asked this question a century ago, for he had always believed Galadriel would share anything important with him. He was not so certain anymore.

"No," she answered.

Celeborn saw the truth of it in her eyes. He saw, too, her fear that he would not believe her.

"Will you try?"

* * *

They walked together arm in arm down to the forest floor. The glade was not far from their talan and when they reached it the mirror sat as ever cradled in its altar of stone. Galadriel filled the silver pitcher with water from the fountain and poured the clear water into the bowl.

Galadriel feared what she might see. She often did. This time, however, she feared her own actions might be the cause of harm to one she loved. Galadriel knew Celeborn would never openly blame her for Caladhel's fate, but they both knew it was her actions and those of the other ringbearers that further fueled Thranduil's distrust.

Galadriel turned to her husband who stood silently watching her next to the fountain. She feared to look, but would do so for him, she owed him that much and more. She stepped up to the altar. She closed her eyes, focused all her thoughts on Caladhel, and then she looked down.

The waters in the mirror came to life, rippling as they would had a pebble been dropped in the center. She saw Caladhel with Celebrían as they were as children, holding hands and dancing. Wildflowers adorned their hair and they laughed together when they fell upon the grass. The vision flashed forward in time. She saw Caladhel as she was not so long ago. She climbed the steps up to Thranduil's throne, letters in hand. Galadriel felt her hesitate at the final step. The mirror went dark, only to come alive again with a fiery light. Galadriel gasped as Caladhel had when Thranduil took hold of her in anger, lifting her face up toward his. The image faded, replaced by Thranduil's alone. The left side of his face was hidden in shadow, as it always was when Galadriel saw him in the mirror. When his image faded something happened then that Galadriel could not recall in all the years she had sought the mirror's council. There were two images in the water but no sooner had one come into focus then it faded and the other came to the fore. They danced back and forth, battling each other, undecided on which would prevail. Then the water went still.

Galadriel stepped away, lost in thought. She had nearly forgotten Celeborn was watching and she startled when he laid his hand on her shoulder.

"What did you see?" he asked. Celeborn feared the answer for a grim expression had formed on her face as she looked.

"I saw Thranduil in anger," she said.

"And Caladhel?"

Galadriel closed her eyes, but she could still see the two images at war. She focused on the first. "I saw her dancing with Celebrían at our daughter's wedding."

Celeborn knew that was not all or else her countenance would not be so grave. "And what else?"

Galadriel choked back the bile rising in her throat. "I saw her lying dead in the dark of Greenwood Forest."

"Tell me," said Celeborn, gripping her shoulder tighter now.

Galadriel fought to hold back her tears but one fell away. "Her white dress was muddied and tattered and her body lay amidst moss covered rocks. Her mare, Sídhel, was wounded and dying nearby. She was slain by orcs, an arrow pierced her heart." The only blessing in that terrible vision had been Galadriel's surety that Caladhel's death had been swift. The orc arrow in her heart was proof enough of that, but the second arrow that pierced the elleth's eye was a horror Galadriel would not soon forget. She did not tell Celeborn about the second arrow. He would suffer enough in both dreams and waking hours should this vision come to pass.

When she looked into her husband's eyes she saw despair. Galadriel hoped to allay it, if only for a short time. "The vision would not resolve. They faded one into the other and back again."

"What does that mean?" He had never heard her speak of such a vision before.

Galadriel recalled the image of Thranduil hidden in shadow. The path diverged before him. "It is in his hands now. Thranduil will decide whether she lives or dies."


	7. Shadows and Light

**Chapter 6: Shadows and Light**

Caladhel awoke to darkness. In the first moments after her mind stirred she could not fathom why the sky above her had no stars. Then she remembered. She sat up quickly, too fast. Her head ached from that orc spawn's poison. Her hands and eyes groped in the black for something to orient herself. All her senses were drawn to the dim light that crept in from under the doorway. She felt her way from bedpost, to dresser, and at last to the door. Caladhel took hold of the handle but it refused to turn. He had locked her inside. She was trapped.

Panic crept in from the corners of Caladhel's mind, making it hard to breathe. She collapsed against the door, sliding downward until her knees hit the floor. She reached her hand out to the light. It lit the tips of her fingers but offered no warmth or comfort.

Caladhel did not know how long she sat on the floor. Time had little meaning in the dark. She had read once in one of her father's books brought from Valinor that The Void was ever black – a prison where those cast out could see the world but never enter it. She did not understand the full meaning of that passage at the time, for she had never known despair. She understood it now and for a moment pitied Morgoth his fate.

Caladhel was staring down at the light when it flickered. Something blocked the torch and a second later a fist sounded on the door.

"It is Beleth, dear, may I come in?"

_Beleth!_ Caladhel's spirit lifted at the sound of her voice but despaired at the Lady's question. "Only if you have a key."

Beleth was puzzled by Caladhel's answer. "What do you…?" She took hold of the handle but it would not turn.

"The King locked me in last night," Caladhel said.

"Why?"

Caladhel hesitated to share with her Thranduil's accusation, but guessed Beleth would learn of it soon enough. "He thinks I am a spy."

Beleth cursed her nephew silently and her husband as well. She could throttle them both! She thought their game with the wine the prior evening deceitful, but accusing a friend and ally of treachery went much too far.

"This is my husband's doing." Beleth was sure. "He sees shadows everywhere, enemies lurking around every corner." Beleth was fuming. She would do something about this, but first... "Are you well, otherwise?"

Caladhel didn't know how to answer the Lady's question. She was not at all well. She was frightened and angry. Her head hurt and her jaw as well from Thranduil's rough handling, but pain was less of a worry to her than the darkness.

After a long pause, she answered. "The fire has burned out. I have no way to light the lamps."

Beleth laid a hand on Caladhel's door. "Be patient. I will return as soon as I can." She turned on her heels and marched off to war.

* * *

Caladhel's insult echoed in Thranduil's mind the entire night. The wine freed her tongue, as he intended, but she had given him nothing he did not already know. Instead she dared to compare him to that cur Isildur – despite the hold he had on her and his hand so near her neck. He could have snapped it. For the briefest of moments he wanted to.

That was when he let her go.

Thranduil had not felt fury since the Dagorlad and did not trust himself to maintain control. He released her and she fell to the floor, unsteadied by both the force with which he freed her and the wine she drank. The moment she hit the ground played over again in his mind. It sparked in him a flicker of shame, which he struggled to extinguish. He argued with himself long, one part claiming Caladhel was to blame for his lost temper. Not all of him agreed. He tried to ignore that part, but did not wholly succeed.

Finding sleep elusive, Thranduil rose and headed to his study. If he could not sleep, he could get a few hours of work done. His counselors' reports were not enough to distract him entirely, but they kept his thoughts somewhat occupied, enough to allow his mind and spirit to calm.

Thranduil's peace was short lived. Beleth's fist on the door shattered it. He knew it was his aunt before she opened the door. He had watched her the night before hovering protectively about Caladhel. And despite what his aunt thought, Thranduil had not missed the infuriated look she shot him when their eyes met. He knew Beleth would be the first to voice her displeasure at the night's events as she had done before when she disagreed with Oropher.

Beleth did not await Thranduil's call to enter before she threw open the door. She was at her nephew's side a moment later glowering down at him. "What do you think you are doing?"

Her tone grated, but Thranduil managed to keep all emotion from his voice when he answered, "What I must."

His response was not sufficient for Beleth. "You have no cause to hold her prisoner."

_Did he need one?_ He almost said that aloud, but immediately thought better of it. She was in a temper as it stood. And he did have a reason. It was cause enough in his mind. "I do not trust Celeborn."

"Celeborn," Beleth asked, "or his wife?"

Thranduil believed the distinction irrelevant. So far as he was concerned, they were one in thought and action. "They are one and the same."

Beleth seemed to think otherwise. "And so too you believe of Caladhel? She delivered a wedding invitation!"

The outrage in his aunt's voice failed to move him. Thranduil regularly sent messengers to distant lands, but he only sent Túven when he wanted something more than a letter brought back. "Any courier could have done that."

Thranduil watched his aunt raise a hand to her temple. He was giving her a headache and was happy to return the favor.

"She was to leave this very morning," Beleth said. "What secret do you imagine she could uncover in the space of a single night?"

"That is what I mean to discover."

Beleth shook her head. He saw frustration in the lines of her face, but also something close to resignation. He hoped the second would stick.

"Whatever it is you think you see in her," said Beleth, "it is not there." She reached out her hand then and laid it on his. "You project your mistrust of Galadriel and Elrond onto her."

"And you consider that unreasonable?" Thranduil asked, but his aunt's attention was no longer on their discussion.

Something rough beneath Beleth's fingers drew her attention to her nephew's hand. She took hold of it and pushed the hem of his sleeve further up his arm. There on the inside of his wrist was a line of cuts scabbed over, each one in the shape of the crescent moon. For a moment Beleth could not fathom how he had sustained such a strange injury, but when she moved to touch the marks she saw that the size and spacing of her own fingers perfectly matched the pattern. She had no doubt whose fingers had left them.

Beleth could not imagine the Lórien lady laying hand on the King for any reason other than defense. The anger she felt at her nephew's actions turned now to fear. "What have you done?"

Thranduil removed his arm none too gently from his aunt's grasp. He did not like the look on her face when she asked him this, but Beleth did not care. "I asked her a few questions."

"What else?" she pressed.

"That is all."

Beleth did not believe him. She had asked the Lady if she was well when they spoke through the door, but Beleth now recalled the long pause that followed her question.

"I want the key to her room."

"Why? She isn't going anywhere."

"You can not keep her locked in the dark!"

"Can't I?" Thranduil leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. The same haughty expression Oropher had used on her from time to time spread across his son's face.

Beleth fought back the urge to slap him. She had done so once to his father when he looked at her with like mien, but Beleth had a different bond with Thranduil than the one she shared with her brother and so would not raise her hand. "I will break down that door if you do not hand it over."

Thranduil knew she meant it. His aunt was as stubborn as his father had been. Oropher lamented that fact often when he lived. When Thranduil was younger it had amused him to witness his father brought to heel by his aunt's wrath. He did not find the experience as entertaining from the other side.

"So you would have me allow a potential spy to roam my halls freely?"

"Other prisoners of this realm have been granted free air and sunlight," said Beleth. "A daughter of Lórien deserves no less. Set a guard on her, if you must, but I will not allow you to keep her locked up in there!"

Thranduil rose from his seat. He had felt much like a child with her standing there talking down to him. At full height he towered over his aunt. He glared down at her. "You forget yourself, Beleth. You may be kin, but I am king."

"Then act like one."

Thranduil flinched as if struck. Beleth's slight was far too close to Caladhel's earlier insult for him to ignore. The dark emotions he fought with earlier returned, but to his dismay, the tiny sliver of shame he tried to extinguish had grown in proportion, aided in no small part by Beleth's words and the judgment in her eyes.

Thranduil recalled his father's wisdom shared with him the last time he lost such an argument to his sister. Oropher had told him that a king must know which battles are worth fighting and from which to withdraw. Thranduil had thought his father's advice prudent at the time, but he discovered now that a defeat in battle would be easier to suffer than this loss.

He reluctantly drew the key to Caladhel's door from his pocket and held it out to his aunt. "I will have a guard set on her."

Beleth nodded once, took the key from his hand and fled his sight. He was relieved to see her go.

* * *

Caladhel heard the lady at the door and the key turn in the lock as she opened it. She rose from her spot on the floor. When the door opened light came flooding in from the lamp in Beleth's hand, freeing her from the darkness.

"Beleth!" Caladhel could not stop herself from throwing her arms around the elleth.

Beleth patted Caladhel's back before she pulled away. "I have brought light." She went about hurriedly lighting the lamps in Caladhel's bedroom, driving the darkness back. When she finished, Beleth set her lamp down on the dresser and turned to take account of Caladhel.

The marks upon her face were the first thing Beleth saw. She lifted Caladhel's chin gently to examine the bruises the King's hand left behind. "What happened?"

Caladhel wished she knew. "The King questioned me, but I had not the answers he sought."

Beleth withdrew her hand from Caladhel's face but held the elleth's eyes, seeking answers. "Why did your uncle send you here?"

Caladhel was painfully aware that the Lady was her sole ally in this kingdom. She would not lie to her. "He wished me to deliver news of my cousin's marriage and judge the King's reaction to it. The King believes there is more to it than that. He called me a distraction."

Beleth laughed but her eyes held no humor. She lifted a hand to Caladhel's face. Fair she was, despite the bruises. "You might be, to some." _But not to Thranduil._ Her nephew had never trusted beauty. It had been so for as long as Beleth could recall.

"I know not what I did to anger him." Caladhel wished she did. The previous day's events had played over and again in her mind as she sat alone in the dark. No matter how many times she relived the day she could not spot her mistake.

Beleth shook her head. "You did nothing. Thranduil's anger has been burning for an age. And my Túven…"

A look of pain filled Beleth's eyes. She knew her husband was also to blame for these events. She wished to explain him, so that Caladhel might understand. "Our people have long distrusted those lords who came out of the West and any who claim kinship with them. Those feelings in Túven have only worsened since our son's death alongside our king at Dagorlad. He blamed Gil-galad and Elrond and your aunt as well, though why I cannot say. After the war a shadow settled upon his heart. I fear it now poisons his thoughts and serves to further fuel Thranduil's fire."

Caladhel sat down upon the edge of her bed. Her hand rose to her face in an uneasy gesture. "I was to leave at first light. I would have departed yesterday if not for the King's banquet."

Beleth shared in Caladhel's dismay. She wished, too, that the Lady had departed. If she had, then none of this madness would be happening. Beleth knew she could not change the past, but she could do something about the present. "Let us get you cleaned up. Then you will come with me."

Caladhel was surprised by Beleth's proposal. She had not thought Thranduil would allow her to leave this chamber. "Am I permitted?"

"You are," Beleth replied. "There will be a guard assigned to keep watch over you. I am sure one of Iordor's wardens will be here soon."

Caladhel looked at the open door. She had wanted so much to escape this room but now she feared to leave it. She knew that by now word will have begun to spread. "I will not be welcome."

Beleth would have none of that. She laid a hand on Caladhel's shoulder drawing the elleth's eyes to hers. "Did you come here to do evil to our people?"

"No," Caladhel replied, praying the Lady of Greenwood would believe her.

"Then you must not spend your days in this prison cell." She moved away to the cabinet where the day before she had hung the spare dresses. She pulled a green dress with leaves embroidered in silver from its hanger. "The people need to see you walking these halls unashamed. They also need to see the marks the King left on your face before they fade."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," said Caladhel. "There will be talk of Thranduil's accusation by now."

"There will be." Beleth laid the dress down upon the bed. She stood before Caladhel and pulled the elleth's hair back over her shoulders, exposing her face and neck. "So we must start some rumors of our own."


	8. Promise Made

**Chapter 7: Promise Made**

Beleth helped Caladhel ready for the day. Once she was dressed Beleth plaited her hair so that it was pulled back, exposing her face and neck. She felt only a minor hesitation at using her nephew's loss of temper against him. The greater part of her felt that if it served as a lesson regarding the proper behavior of a king, Thranduil would come through it the better.

Caladhel was in the washroom when a knock sounded on the door. Beleth opened it and was surprised at who she found on the other side. "Lord Iordor."

"Lady Beleth."

The captain of Greenwood's guard bowed respectfully to Beleth and she noted he was not alone. One of the younger guards, Cendil, stood behind him. Beleth nodded to the guard as well before returning her attention to Iordor. She was more than pleased to see him. Iordor was renowned both for his sword arm and his level head. At present, Beleth thought her nephew in desperate need of the latter.

"I was not aware you had returned from the borders," she said.

Iordor frowned. "I seem to have arrived in time for the morning's events. I wished to meet the elleth we are tasked with guarding."

Beleth was heartened by the expression on Iordor's face. It was clear he knew something of what transpired and that he did not approve.

"She will be out in a moment," Beleth told him, "then we will be off." Here she looked to Cendil. "I assume you will be taking the first watch?"

The ellon bowed his head. "Yes, my lady."

Beleth heard the light step of Caladhel approaching the door. She turned to greet her. "Ah, Caladhel, this is Lord Iordor." She gestured to the ellon before her. "He is Captain of the Guard, and an excellent one, too. It is a post he has held since we first came to Greenwood."

Caladhel recalled the lord's name and title when Haldir first introduced her to Haldor. She dipped her head in greeting, "My lord."

The moment Caladhel appeared before him Iordor noted the marks of someone's hand upon her face. His mind returned to the earlier incident at the gate. Iordor had already reprimanded Laithor for the unnecessary kick he gave the Lórien warden, and he was disturbed now by thoughts of what might have come before.

Iordor laid his hand upon his heart. "My lady," he said, "I promise you, the guard responsible for your injuries will be reprimanded."

Beleth was quick to correct him. "It was not one of your guards, Iordor," she said. "They, at least, have some manners. My nephew has none."

Beleth watched as the dawning of realization reached Iordor's eyes. If she had thought his expression grave before, it grew immeasurably darker. She would have said more to him, but Caladhel spoke first.

"Lord Iordor, do you know what happened to my escort, Haldir?" Caladhel's worry for Haldir had grown by the hour and Beleth had no news of him to tell her.

Iordor nodded. "My son is seeing him to the border now."

The look in the Lord's eyes did little to allay Caladhel's fears. "Did he go quietly?"

"I'm afraid not." Iordor's frowned at the memory, but did his best to ease the fear he saw in the lady's eyes. "There was… an altercation. I arrived before it grew out of hand. He suffered a few bruises, nothing more."

Caladhel could not say why she believed Lord Iordor. He could well have been lying. And if Túven had told her the same, she would have doubted him. Perhaps it was the troubled look in his eyes that made her confident he spoke true. "Thank you."

Beleth took hold of Caladhel's arm. "Now, if you will excuse us," she said to Iordor, "we have places to be." She turned to the young guard who looked upon Caladhel's face with unease. "Come along Cendil. I am sure all in Limrond will feel safer with your watchful eyes upon us."

"Iordor," Beleth nodded her goodbye, before she pulled the elleth out the door.

Iordor gestured to the guard to follow. He could see the discomfort in Cendil's face clear enough and was certain the same expression graced his own. He had felt uneasy after the incident with the Lórien warden, but the disquiet he felt before grew now into something more profound.

* * *

Caladhel had been so preoccupied by the evening's events and her freedom from darkness that she had not thought to ask Beleth where they were going. They walked along long corridors and down stairs until Caladhel felt utterly lost.

"Where are we going, Beleth?"

Beleth smiled at her mischievously. "To the source of all news in the realm," she said. When Caladhel arched her brow at her in question Beleth added, "The ladies of the court are working on new tunics for the palace guards." Beleth gestured down the final flight of stairs to a great room where Caladhel could see more than two dozen ladies seated in twos and threes. They were already at work.

Caladhel was grateful, truly, for Beleth's support, but her thoughts returned now to Thranduil. It was one thing to disagree with the King, another to insult him, but turning his people against him was a step Caladhel feared might be one too far.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

Beleth nudged the Lady with her elbow. "Then you'll have to trust I know better."

Caladhel saw at once the determination in Beleth's eyes. She did not know how much power Beleth had to protect her, but if the Lady feared no repercussions then Caladhel felt it best to trust her decision. She turned her gaze once again on the ladies seated below with cloth and needles in hand. She could not help but laugh.

"What is funny?" Beleth asked. She had not seen Caladhel smile since the previous night.

Caladhel turned her attention away from the ladies to meet Beleth's curious gaze. "The Valar must be punishing me," she said. When a look of puzzlement formed on Beleth's face, Caladhel added, "I came to Greenwood to escape my cousin's sewing party."

Beleth laughed at that and then she tugged gently on the Lady's arm. "Come along."

They descended the stair together arm in arm and halfway to the landing curious gazes found them. Caladhel took note of the surprise on some of the ladies' faces and the whispers passed as some leaned closer to their neighbors.

"Good morning, friends," Beleth began. "As some of you might have heard, Lady Caladhel will be staying with us a bit longer than she planned. She has offered to assist us in our work."

By the time they reached the bottom step the murmurs had grown in volume. They were all looking at Caladhel now. Even by the light of the lamps they could see the bruises on her face. Beleth led Caladhel to a circle of empty chairs. Beleth directed her to a settee that faced the crowd so all present and any who joined them later would have a good view of her.

An elleth Caladhel recognized from the banquet brought her and Beleth garments to stitch. Caladhel threaded the needle she was handed and went to work. She did her best to focus her attention on making the smallest, most even stitches possible. She had often lamented the tedium of sewing, but it gave her an excuse to ignore the whispers being passed about her.

Caladhel and Beleth worked silently for an hour before they were interrupted. A young elleth appeared at their side with a tray of tea and biscuits. Caladhel thought her a pretty thing with the innocent eyes of a child.

Caladhel took the tea and a biscuit from her and smiled. "Thank you."

"I am Daerel, my lady, " the elleth said by way of introduction.

Caladhel tried to recall the name, but if they had met before the King's wine had erased the memory. "Forgive me," said Caladhel, "I do not recall if we met at the banquet last night."

Daerel shook her head. "I am not yet old enough to attend."

"Ah," Caladhel replied. "That would explain why I do not recognize your face."

Daerel tried to smile but the expression was forced and the corners of her mouth soon pulled downward in a frown. "Does it hurt?"

Caladhel lifted a hand to her face. She did not wish to scare the child. "It aches a little."

Daerel, boldened by Caladhel's response, took a seat on the settee beside her. She glanced at the ladies in the hall before returning her attention to Caladhel. "They wish to know what happened."

Caladhel was surprised – not that the ladies were curious – but at whom they had chosen to question her. "And you were the one tasked with asking?"

"Oh, no." The elleth shook her head and her eyes grew wide. She glanced briefly toward a group seated at the far end of the room and leaned in closer to Caladhel when she whispered, "If they do find out, they won't tell me. No one tells me anything. So I thought to ask you myself."

Caladhel was impressed by the child's determination, but she did not feel entirely comfortable using one so young to spread such a tale. Caladhel sought Beleth's eyes and when she found them the Greenwood Lady nodded.

Caladhel tuned her attention back to Daerel. "I angered the King," she said.

Daerel's eyes grew wide. "What did you do?"

Caladhel shook her head. "I don't know."

The elleth's gaze moved to the bruises on Caladhel's face and neck. "And the King did that to you?"

"Yes," Caladhel replied.

Daerel was about to ask another question when a voice called out to her from across the room.

"Daerel, dear. Do not pester Lady Beleth and her guest."

Caladhel followed Daerel's gaze to one of the ellith who was seated at the far end of the room.

"Yes, mother," Daerel replied. She rose from her seat but spoke once more to Caladhel. "I will see you later."

Caladhel smiled at the young one before she turned and hurried away.

Beleth marked Daerel's progress as she carried tea and news around the room, and Cendil, too, as he stood at the foot of the stairs talking to a palace guard. The guard's eyes moved more than once to Caladhel as they spoke.

"All in Limrond will know by day's end," Beleth said.

Caladhel followed the direction of Beleth's gaze to find Cendil and another guard's eyes on her. Upon noting her attention, both ellyn quickly averted their gaze. The guard fared Cendil well before climbing the stair and disappearing from sight. With him Beleth's plan took flight.

* * *

Iordor had intended to seek an audience with the King upon parting with Ladies Beleth and Caladhel, but fate did not work in his favor. Word had begun to spread of the incident with the Lórien warden and that word was brought repeatedly back to him.

Iordor spoke carefully when various members of the court questioned him and he was cautious to make no mention of Caladhel and the King. He soon found his caution unnecessary. Beleth had brought Caladhel before the court ladies and from them their lords learned what Iordor had tried to keep from them. Iordor was pressed from all sides with questions and concerns. So many sought his council that it took him half a day to reach the King's door.

When Iordor arrived at Thranduil's study he was already late for his usual report. He apologized for his tardiness and began highlighting the most important updates from his tour of the borders. It took close to an hour for Iordor to update the King on security matters and he held the matter of Caladhel for last.

Thranduil noted that Iordor did not hasten to leave when he finished his report. "You have something more to say to me?"

"I do."

Iordor was uncertain how to begin. He had served Oropher long and counted the former king a friend, but Thranduil was not his father. Both kings were wary of outsiders, true, and both could be arrogant, too, but where Oropher was quick to smile, his son more often wore a frown. Some might fail to note such detail, but for Iordor it marked the difference between Oropher and his son. Thranduil lived for an age with a shadow upon him, and Iordor knew well from whence it came, for he himself had carried Thranduil's body from the ruins of Thangorodrim.

Iordor needed Thranduil to hear him, but he knew this king well enough to temper his approach. "Your people trust you to protect them," he said, "and that your justice will be equable and fair."

Thranduil raised his eyes from the report he had been reading, his attention drawn by the tone of Iordor's speech more so than his words. "Your tone suggests that today they believe otherwise. Would you care to tell me why?"

Iordor had no idea what Thranduil already knew, so he started with what he thought the King did not. "You marked her face with your hand," Iordor replied. "Many have seen the bruises and more have heard tell of them."

Thranduil leaned back in his chair and a dark expression spread across his face. Iordor had expected Thranduil to deny laying hand on the Lady, but the King did not protest.

When Thranduil gave no sign he would respond, Iordor continued. "There are many in your court with kin who dwell in Lórien. They would not wish to see their loved ones treated so by King Amroth or Lord Celeborn."

Thranduil's jaw clenched at the mention of Celeborn and he turned on Iordor. "Would you prefer me to ignore one who might do us harm?"

Iordor shook his head. "I would rather you had banished her from the Greenwood and forbidden her return," he replied. Here Iordor offered the King a solution he believed would be best for all. "There is still time. I will escort her to Lórien myself, today, with your consent."

But Iordor could see that Thranduil was not prepared to concede a mistake.

"Not until I have answers," Thranduil replied. He made to dismiss Iordor but something in the Captain's eyes told him the ellon was not finished. "Is there something else?"

"There is another cause for concern." Iordor had debated whether to raise this particular subject with the King. Iordor himself had thought it unlikely when the first lord he spoke with brought it up. That number grew to half a dozen by the time Iordor finally reached the King's door. Whether likely or not, it was on the people's minds and that alone made it a problem.

"And that is?" Thranduil asked when Iordor hesitated.

Iordor did his best to relay the concern others had brought to him. "The Lady's father was one of the lords who came out of the West. I know not what kinship he had to Galadriel or Elrond, but there are those among us who remember the last time we withheld something precious from the Noldor." Iordor hesitated a moment, before driving the point home. "Your people do not wish to see a fourth kinslaying."

It was immediately clear by the King's startled expression that this was not an outcome he had considered at all. That he failed to consider such did not surprise Iordor. Thranduil had been but a child when the Fëanorions attacked Doriath and was spirited away before the first stroke fell.

"You think they would take up arms against us to reclaim her?" Thranduil asked.

Iordor saw a flicker of concern in the King's eyes for the first time. "I know not," he replied. Iordor wished he could be sure. His thoughts turned to Amroth. "The King of Lórien is kin to many in Greenwood, but Celeborn is his heir and it is Galadriel's power that protects his kingdom. If he were called upon to choose, I would wager Amroth would side with them. And if Elrond is marrying Celebrían, it would not be unreasonable for him to come to the aid of her kin."

Iordor met his King's eyes and held them. He wanted to be certain Thranduil understood. "We lost too many to Sauron. If the Galadhrim and the Noldor Elrond commands decide to come for her, we will not stop them."

Thranduil acknowledged Iordor's assessment with a nod before he looked away. "I will think on what you have said, Iordor. You may go."

Iordor bowed before departing. All he could do now was pray the King would heed his words.

* * *

Cendil was Caladhel's shadow the entire day. He left her only briefly at noon, and another guard was set to watch her while he was away. He returned shortly after the midday meal and remained with her the rest of the day. In the afternoon she wandered about the palace taking in the sights. No one spoke to her, but eyes and whispers followed as she passed. She asked Cendil if the palace had a library and he directed her to a great room where the library was housed. She asked the ellon in charge if she could borrow a few. He caught sight of her injuries and immediately forgot her question. When she asked again he merely nodded.

After selecting a few tomes, Caladhel asked Cendil to take her back to her room. She was tired of being at once stared at and ignored. Cendil led her silently along the many halls and stairways until they reached her door. She knew he would remain in the hall outside until time came for another to relieve him. She bid him good night before closing the door.

Caladhel sat upon her bed and opened a book of poetry. She hoped to occupy her mind for a few hours with something more pleasant than her present situation. She was halfway through the first lay when a knock sounded on her door. She set the book aside and rose to open it. Cendil waited on the other side.

"The King wishes to speak with you," he said.

Caladhel could read the unease in the young guard's eyes and she wondered briefly if his concern was for her. She nodded once and followed him out the door. Caladhel did what she could to prepare herself for her meeting with the King. She had no idea what lay in store, but she was certain Thranduil must have heard the whispers by now. She resigned herself to the possibility that she might soon be moved to the dungeon for her troubles.

When they arrived at an ornately carved door Cendil knocked twice and from the other side Caladhel heard the king bid her enter. She opened the door and stepped inside leaving Cendil in the hall. Caladhel dipped her head in greeting. She suspected he might well be angrier than he had been the night before and for the moment saw no reason to provoke him.

"You wished to see me, my lord."

When she lifted her eyes she found Thranduil studying her face. She could read nothing in his eyes. If he felt guilt or remorse for what he had done he would not allow it expression. Caladhel refused to drop her gaze when he approached. She did not want him to know how uneasy his presence made her, but she failed to stop herself from flinching when his hand rose to touch her face.

Thranduil dropped his hand before making contact when Caladhel drew back in fear. She looked worse than he had imagined. The imprints of his fingers along the pale skin of her jaw were dark enough to be seen from a distance. Thranduil regretted his loss of temper now more than ever.

Having assessed her injuries he returned his attention to the Lady's eyes. She was once again in control, as she had been when they met in the great hall. Only now a fierce light shone behind her eyes.

"You are an excellent politician," he said. "You know how to turn a crowd in your favor."

Caladhel's eyes narrowed at his accusation and she turned it back on him. "I had your help with that."

She was right, and it galled him. If only he had not raised his hand. His moment of weakness had handed her power over him. "I regret my loss of temper."

She looked right through him, or so it seemed, and surprised Thranduil with her judgement. "No you don't. You regret only that they witnessed the result."

Thranduil could not halt the look of amusement that spread across his face. She was right, of course. He did not regret frightening her or the tears that fell from her eyes. And while he might now regret his lack of self-control in the moment he took hold of her, he did so mostly for the sake of his own reputation.

The Lady's expression hardened at the amusement in his eyes. "How long do you plan on keeping me here?"

"As long as I desire," he replied.

Caladhel's eyes told Thranduil just how little she cared about his whims. "I promised my cousin I would return in time to see her wed."

"Perhaps you should have considered that before you came here."

Caladhel's chin rose in answer to his challenge. "Had I known the reception I'd receive from Greenwood's king," she said, "I would never have set foot in this land."

Thranduil regarded her coldly. He would not take the bait she offered or permit his anger to control him again. "I would take care how you choose to speak to me, should you desire to honor your promise to Celebrían."

Caladhel did not back down from his challenge and met it with her own. "I will keep my promise, with or without your help."

Thranduil found her boldness mildly entertaining, for he marked her words for what they were, an empty threat. "None pass Greenwood's borders without my consent."

Thranduil had summoned the Lady that evening with dual intent, to assess her injuries and to judge whether Iordor was correct. He had been willing to banish her from Greenwood before she arrived, and he would have, too, had she but begged. But the challenge she laid down gnawed uncomfortably at his pride. He would free her in his own time, no sooner.

His decision made, Thranduil summoned the guard from the hall. "See the Lady back to her quarters."

The guard bowed and Caladhel followed him out. It was not until the door closed behind her that Thranduil noted she did not bow.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ For those of you who care about timelines, Thranduil's exact age is unknown. The only thing established in canon is that he was alive in the second age and crowned king after his father fell at Dagorlad. I'm taking movie details including Thranduil's comment about him facing dragons to indicate he fought in the War of Wrath, which is the last report of Elves facing dragons in battle. This would make Thranduil at least 3,600 years old during this story and around 6,500 years old at the time of The Hobbit, so in my timeline he is a few decades older than Elrond. _


	9. The Lord of the Forest

**Chapter 8: The Lord of the Forest**

Caladhel was relaxing with a book in the library when her peace was interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Lady Caladhel."

Caladhel's attention was drawn swiftly to the warden. "Haldor!" She rose from her seat and met him as he crossed the hall. "What news of Haldir?"

"We saw him to the border. I feared he might try to return for you but he had enough sense to turn south. He rode hard, my lady. I do not think he will stop before he reaches Lórien except to feed and rest his horse. He wanted me to assure you that it was not his wish to abandon you."

Caladhel shook her head and smiled. "He worries so much about honor. I am glad he had enough sense to act with his head, not his heart."

"He is a warden of Lórien, my lady," Haldor replied. "If he could not free you, then his duty was to deliver word to your lord and uncle. He will do so, and swiftly."

"I know."

A shadow fell across her face again, the same shadow he observed as she sat reading. Haldor wished to lift it. He had been informed by his father of all that transpired since he escorted Haldir from Limrond. It had been a good four days since he departed and the marks on the Lady's face were fading fast. Like his father, Haldor hoped the situation would be resolved quickly and the Lady would be allowed to depart. In the mean time, there was little he could do to lighten her spirits, but he resolved to do what he could.

"I see you are enjoying the library, but would you care to walk outside with me? The sun will do you good and we can visit your horse."

Caladhel had not realized how much she missed the sky until Haldor's offer. She was certain Sídhel was well cared for by Greenwood's guardians, but desired to check on her nonetheless. "I would like that very much," she said, "thank you."

Haldor addressed the Cendil who sat in a far corner of the room watching them. "Report to my father. I will keep an eye on our guest."

Haldor offered Caladhel his arm. "Shall we?"

Caladhel took his arm and they spoke of unimportant things as he led her from the palace. There was a clearing in the wood at the base of the mountain. The far end was reserved for bow lessons and she saw a handful of guards practicing with blades. At the edge of the field Sídhel stood munching lazily on some tufts of grass.

Caladhel released her hold on Haldor's arm and stepped forward to call the animal to her. "Sídhel!"

Caladhel's mare lifted her head at the familiar voice and cantered across the field. Sídhel tossed her head and whinnied in excitement when she came to a halt before her mistress. She was clearly ready to depart. Caladhel held out her hand to Sídhel. The horse lowered her head and Caladhel patted her muzzle.

"You wish to go home. I know. We will, soon, I promise."Caladhel pulled an apple from the pocket of her dress and held it out to Sídhel. The horse was pleased with the gift and munched it happily.

Their reunion was interrupted by the sound of hooves approaching through the wood. A moment later four ellyn dressed in warden's clothes burst into the field, riding beasts the likes of which Caladhel had never seen. They looked somewhat like the white-tailed deer that roamed the woods of Lothlórien only much, much bigger.

"What are they?" Caladhel asked.

"They are the Giant Deer of the north," Haldor replied. "Their numbers are great in the northern stretches of the Greenwood, but they roam not so far south as Lothlórien.

"They let you ride them?"

"Of course," he replied. "Horses were made for the open field. Only those who travel afar have need of them. The deer love the forest, as we do. They are sure footed, too. Where a horse might stumble, a deer will not." Haldor patted Sídhel kindly when he spoke the last. He did not wish her to take of offense, but the horse merely nodded her head in agreement.

One of the wardens waved to Haldor as he dismounted and the others nodded in his direction before departing. The deer, having delivered the elves home safely, began feeding on the grass.

"I have seen deer before," she said, "but never their like."

A rustle sounded in the wood nearby and moments later ten more deer joined their companions. They were all incredible to behold but the hart that entered last drew Caladhel's eye. He was easily three times the size of the greatest stag she had ever seen and the antlers he bore were larger than those above Thranduil's throne.

Haldor saw where Caladhel's eyes led her. "He is Taurhîn, their lord."

"He is magnificent."

Taurhîn must have known she spoke of him, for the hart turned toward her and approached. Caladhel thought him even more impressive up close. He stood seven feet at the shoulder and his antlers were even larger across. _Taurhîn._ She thought it a fitting name for the great beast.

Caladhel held her hand out to him and he allowed her to pet his muzzle. "Your crown is mighty indeed, Lord of the Forest."

The hart snorted in thanks before moving to greet her horse. The animals touched noses briefly. The gesture surprised Caladhel for she knew her horse was not overly fond of strangers. "I see you have already met Sídhel."

The animals clearly liked one another and Caladhel was glad Sídhel had made a friend, for she knew not how much longer they would be held captive. Taurhîn made an odd vocalization before he walked away to rejoin his herd. Sídhel followed him. The horse and deer grazed together upon leaves and grass. As Caladhel watched them an idea formed in her mind, followed swiftly by a question.

She turned to Haldor. "Are there horses, too, here in the woods?"

"No," he replied. "There are herds friendly to our realm beyond the borders of Greenwood when we have need of them. They rule the fields, and the deer, the trees."

"I see," said Caladhel. She smiled a small, secret smile meant only for her and once again took hold of Haldor's arm. "Shall we return to Limrond? I think Sídhel and Lord Taurhîn have dismissed us for the day."

Haldor laughed and nodded. "Then we had better obey. None would dare cross the Lord of the Forest, not even our king."

* * *

Caladhel was not surprised when the King walked through the door, but she was impressed he came himself. He could easily have sent a message to the librarian banning her from the premises. The ellon in charge of the books had tried to be discreet when he sent the messenger off to report on her, but Caladhel knew her choice of reading material would arouse suspicion. She had realized days ago that the elf in charge had been instructed to monitor what she removed from the shelves.

"My lord," Caladhel said in greeting when he approached, though she did not stand. It was disrespectful, they both knew it, but Caladhel did not care. At the moment it appeared neither did the King.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Caladhel knew what he meant by his question but was not inclined to answer. She closed the book on the table in front of her. "Why?" she asked. "Is reading forbidden to me now?"

"Reading, no." Thranduil reached out his hand and opened the book, revealing its contents. "But you are not reading. You are studying maps."

"Your maps of Greenwood and the lands east are more detailed than ours," said Caladhel. "I was but curious."

Thranduil was not convinced. "I do not believe you."

Caladhel flipped the cover of the book closed once more. "That is your right, my lord."

Caladhel rose from her chair and took up the book. She intended to return it to the shelf but was thwarted by the King's hand. As she turned away he took hold of her upper arm and turned her back toward him.

Thranduil would not allow Caladhel to so casually dismiss him. He knew what she wanted. She had made her intentions clear days ago. Only now he had reason to think she might actually consider an attempt. "If you run," he said, "we will track you. If you ride off, we will ride you down."

Caladhel did not address his warning immediately. Instead, she pulled against his hand. He released her the moment he felt resistance and Caladhel wondered briefly if he had, in fact, learned from his previous mistake.

"Indeed," she replied, once her arm was again her own. "I have met the Lord of the Forest. I have no doubt he could catch Sídhel under the trees."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed. "If you believe that, then what are you doing?"

"I am plotting my escape," she answered and watched as Thranduil's expression hardened. A fire lit his eyes, but Caladhel could not help but find his anger amusing. "What? Is that not what you wished me to tell you?"

"I wish you to tell me the truth."

Caladhel had grown weary of these arguments with the King. She came to the conclusion days ago that Thranduil did not want the truth. He wanted his truths confirmed. "I told you the truth before and you did not believe me. And I tell you the truth now … I am plotting."

Thranduil looked upon her with an odd expression. Caladhel was unsure how to interpret it, but thought, perhaps, that Thranduil might finally believe her.

"I thought you to be unlike your cousin."

His statement angered Caladhel, for she was in no mood for more insults to her kin. "What is that supposed to mean?" she snapped.

"It means you do not strike me as a fool!"

The anger in his eyes reached his voice that time, and there was something else in its timbre. If Caladhel had heard that particular emotion behind another's words, she might have named it concern.

"The forest is dangerous beyond our borders," he continued. "Fell things lurk beneath the trees. We have not rooted them out completely."

"Is that right?" she asked, uncaring.

"It is."

"Then you would do well to provide me an escort."

If Caladhel had hoped to provoke Thranduil into losing his temper a second time, she very nearly succeeded. His hands clenched into fists but she watched as he slowly mastered his rage. She thought he might continue the argument, but instead he turned and strode to the door.

Before he could reach it Caladhel spoke again. "It is curious that you call me spy and yet permit me to wander freely in your halls."

Thranduil halted in his tracks but did not turn back when he addressed her. "You have my aunt to thank for your freedom."

"Oh, I know," Caladhel replied, "but I have thought long on your decision to accede and I have come to but one conclusion." She watched as Thranduil struggled over whether to ignore her opinion or face it. The battle did not last long.

He turned around. "And that is?"

The look in Thranduil's eyes was hard and cold but Caladhel met his gaze evenly. That same look in another ellon's eyes might have caused her to tremble. In Thranduil's eyes, it was a gauntlet thrown, challenging her to press on.

"I have concluded that if there is some dark secret you fear I might discover, it is not your walls or your people who hide it."

Thranduil's only response to her declaration was a slight narrowing of his eyes before he turned and walked out the door.

* * *

Caladhel's life in Limrond had fallen into a daily pattern. She spent the morning with Beleth and the court ladies sewing, after lunch she visited Sídhel and fed her a treat and when she returned to Limrond she spent the remainder of the day in the library. Haldor spent his days guarding her and Cendil his nights. They were fine companions all around. It took a few days, but Caladhel had even managed to get Cendil to talk a bit. Haldor warned Caladhel that the young guard was not a particularly loquacious ellon, but she managed to drawn him out of his shell. She learned soon enough of his love for a certain cook in the kitchens. Afterward, Caladhel included a nightly detour for a snack so Cendil might see his ladylove before escorting Caladhel to bed.

The afternoon was a sunny and warm one for autumn. Caladhel was feeding Sídhel a carrot and watching Haldor practice with his bow at the far end of the field. She had taken to bringing more than one carrot when she visited Sídhel, for the deer grazing beside her appreciated the tasty gifts as well. She fed the two hinds sharing the corner of the field with Sídhel a carrot, too.

When the second was nearly finished eating the Lord of the Forest appeared. Caladhel wondered if he knew she brought carrots, for he seemed to prefer them to other items she brought. He came to her side and pressed his nose to the bag of produce.

"It is good to see you, too, Taurhîn," she said, laughing. "Would you like one?" She pulled a carrot out of the bag and held it out for him. She patted his muzzle while he devoured the treat in a few quick bites.

Caladhel looked over to Sídhel briefly before returning her attention to the hart. "Sídhel and I have a favor to ask of you." She leaned in closer and whispered into Taurhîn's ear. When she finished, she moved away. The hart lifted his head. "Will you help us?"

Taurhîn snorted once and pawed the ground before her. He let loose a cry, high pitched, like the sounding of a horn. His cry echoed through the field and the surrounding wood. All the deer that had been grazing lifted their heads and looked at him. He snorted again, bowed his head and returned to the forest.

Caladhel gaze swept over the field. She watched the deer return to their grazing and found Haldor staring at her from across the field. Taurhîn's cry had startled him, too. She walked over to him and Sídhel followed behind.

"Did you upset him?" Haldor asked when she drew near.

Caladhel shook her head. "I don't believe so." She gestured towards his bow. "May I shoot a few?"

"You don't strike me as an archer," said Haldor.

"I prefer the sword, if you must know," Caladhel replied, "but the King saw fit to hide mine."

Haldor smiled at her kindly. "I am sure he will return it before you leave. It is dangerous to travel abroad unarmed."

"I heartily agree," Caladhel replied. She fixed Haldor with a stare for he had not responded to her request. "Well?"

"Not worried you'll ruin your dress?"

Caladhel looked down at the white gown she wore decorated with delicately beaded embroidery. It was not the usual attire for archery practice, but Caladhel did not care. "You think me unable to fire an arrow in a dress?"

Haldor crossed his arms with his bow in hand. "I'm sure you can manage, but what will I do while you practice?"

"You can retrieve the arrows," she offered.

"Of course," Haldor said, and laughed. "Remind me to thank my father for assigning me to you. To think, I could be at the borders frightening men or slaying orcs. Instead, I am here retrieving arrows." He stepped forward and handed her the bow.

Caladhel took the proffered bow but her earlier lighthearted expression fell. "Thank you."

Haldor instantly noted her change in tone. He suspected she did not thank him for the bow. "For what?"

Caladhel took up a full quiver of arrows resting in the supply rack and slung it over her shoulder. "You have been a friend to me, as has Lady Beleth, and I am grateful. I want you both to know."

"Well now I know." Haldor smiled and shook a finger at her jokingly. "But don't ask me to run and tell the Lady for you. I have enough to do retrieving your arrows."

Caladhel returned his smile and watched him head to the far end of the field.

When he was near enough to the target she drew back her bow. Her aim needed to be perfect, and truth was, the loose sleeves of the dress were a mild hindrance. She released the arrow. It hit the edge of the target and ricocheted off the side, striking a tree fifty paces behind.

"Your aim is terrible!"

"It's the dress," she replied.

"Of course it is." Haldor winked at her before turning to the wood to retrieve the arrow.

"Offer the tree my apologies, will you," Caladhel shouted.

Haldor waved to note he heard her, but did not turn. Caladhel stowed the bow on her back and waited for the moment Haldor put his hand on the arrow's shaft before she turned and ran. Sídhel was waiting less than twenty paces away and in seconds she had mounted.

"Run, Sídhel," she cried, but the horse was already moving. She took off south across the field and down the Elven Path as fast as her legs would carry them.

Caladhel was already riding away across the field by the time Haldor realized what was happening. He dropped the arrow he had pulled from the tree and sprinted towards the nearest deer. He leapt onto the hind's back and spurred her forward but the beast had different plans. The hind bucked and threw him, a response Haldor had not expected. He landed hard on his back. The impact forced the wind right out of him and for a minute he struggled for breath. The hind made a soft vocalization akin to a snigger. She lowered her head and continued to munch upon the grass.


	10. Freedom

**Chapter 9: Freedom**

They heard running down the hall approaching the royal dining room moments before the guards reached the door. Thranduil was already on his feet when Iordor entered. His son followed closely on his heels. Both ellyn looked slightly out of breath, a feat not easily achieved and a testament to the urgent nature of the matter they carried.

Iordor only half-bowed to Beleth and Túven before he addressed the King. "My king, Lady Caladhel has fled."

Thranduil cursed silently. He had warned the elleth several days before against such reckless action, and still she defied him. He had briefly considered locking her up again following their conversation in the library, but he didn't. In truth, part of him wanted her to make an attempt, if only so she would learn how vain it would be.

"What happened?"

"She took her horse and bolted," said Haldor.

Thranduil was well aware that Haldor was the one assigned to guard Caladhel during the day. What he didn't know was why the ellon was here, speaking with him, and not out tracking his charge. "Why are you telling me this?" he snapped at the guard. "You should be riding out after her!"

Haldor looked to his father and back at the King.

"We tried," said Iordor, "but the deer. They will not let us ride them."

Iordor had not believed his son when he ran to the guard post and told him thus. It was only when Iordor himself and half a dozen others were thrown from the animals and cast into the dirt that he finally believed. Iordor had been troubled by the events of the previous few weeks, but the moment the hind threw him he knew fear for the first time.

It was difficult for the wardens of Greenwood to maintain the watch after the losses they sustained fighting Sauron. The entire kingdom had retreated farther north and shrunk in size because they could no longer defend the outer reaches. They could not patrol every inch of the border they held now without the deer's help. If Taurhîn turned his back on the elves of Greenwood, the kingdom's defenses would be crippled.

"I saw her speak to Taurhîn a few minutes before she made her escape," Haldor added. "I think he is helping her."

Túven and Beleth were still seated at the table and had been listening silently to the exchange. Túven turned to his wife. "What do you know of this?" His tone held a strong note of accusation.

Beleth shook her head in dismay. "Nothing. I swear." When she turned her attention to Thranduil she could see he did not believe her. "If she had told me, I would have talked her out of it."

"Are you sure?" Thranduil asked, for he was not convinced.

Beleth rose angrily from her seat. "I may disagree with you holding her here," she said, "but I am not a fool! Caladhel is no warrior. The wild is no place for an elleth unarmed."

"She has a bow," Haldor added. He had intended this news as a comfort to the Lady but immediately regretted his candor.

Thranduil rounded on the guard. "And how did she get her hands on a bow?"

Haldor cursed himself silently for mentioning it, but he would not lie to the King. "We were at the archery field, practicing."

"And she played you for a fool." Thranduil wanted to wring the idiot's neck, but he didn't have time to deal with the guardian now. He turned instead to Iordor. "Summon fifty guards to the front gate. We will find her."

"We will not catch her on foot," Iordor replied.

"No, we won't. Summon the Lord of the Forest. Go now! I will be there shortly."

Iordor and his son turned and ran back in the direction they came. Thranduil strode from the dining room toward his private chambers. He refused to run. Caladhel would like that, he was sure of it, making the King of the Sindar race through his own halls like a child or a servant. He would not give her that. Thranduil was calculating in his head the amount of time it must have taken Haldor to run from the training fields to his father's guard station and from there to him. _Twenty minutes, maybe a little more._ She could have her head start before he hunted her down.

Beleth abandoned her husband and followed quickly on her nephew's heels. She did have to run to keep up. When Thranduil turned to take the north passage she realized he was going in the opposite direction of the front gate.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To change," he replied. "I can't ride in this." He was wearing a tunic that was not cut for the freedom of movement needed to properly wield a blade or a bow. He swore to burn the garment when he returned and to never wear its like again.

"What if Taurhîn refuses to help you?" Beleth asked, concern clear in her voice.

"He will not refuse."

Thranduil said this with far more conviction than he felt. The elves and the deer of Greenwood had been allies since the Age of Trees, when the Nandor first broke away from the Great Journey and settled in the forest. Thranduil wanted to blame Caladhel for causing this rift, but in his heart he knew it was not her actions alone that led to their current predicament. One could not lie to a beast. They knew truth when they heard it. And if Taurhîn had chosen to aid Caladhel it meant that the Lord of the Forest had judged Thranduil - and found him guilty.

As if she had been listening in on his thoughts, Beleth voiced one of the many that haunted him.

"If the Lord of the Forest aided her escape," Beleth said, "he may not allow you to pursue her now."

Thranduil bristled at her words. He knew that, but he also knew that none of this would be happening had he not given in to Beleth's demands. "I should have kept her locked in that room."

Beleth shook her head. "You should never have kept her at all!"

When they reached his chambers Thranduil tossed his cloak and the fine tunic he wore to the floor. He pulled out some riding clothes and his light armor. He changed quickly and Beleth aided him with the rest.

Beleth worked silently for a time to secure his breastplate. After, she took up his left vambrace and began fastening the straps. "She reminds me of you, you know."

Thranduil was in no mood for Beleth's thoughts, but he knew that nothing short of gagging her would stop her from voicing them. "Is that right?"

"She has a sharp tongue when she cares to use it, a quick-wit. She is stubborn and wily." Beleth moved to secure the armor on his right arm. She looked straight into her nephew's eyes before adding, "She outsmarted you."

"And how smart will she be if an orc pack finds her?" Thranduil countered.

Beleth finished with the final buckle and when she was done she stepped back and folded her arms. She fixed her nephew with a look of stern appraisal. "What did you expect her to do? Sit and wait until you decided to release her? Beg you for her freedom? That elleth has fire in her, like Lúthien had – and Tinúviel did not wait for Celegorm to free her. Haun helped Lúthien escape and Taurhîn helped Caladhel. Poetic, really. Perhaps someone will write a song."

"Do not compare me to that cursed Fëanorion!"

"Why not?" Beleth replied, ignoring Thranduil's rising anger. "I understand he was ill-tempered and blond, too, though he might have been prettier."

Thranduil refused to dignify his aunt's ill humor with a response. He fastened his sword belt, picked up his bow and quiver and strode to the door.

"What will you say to the Lord of the Forest?" Beleth called after him, but Thranduil never answered.

* * *

Beleth's question echoed in Thranduil's head from the time he left his room until he reached the front gate. He had no answer and he needed one, now. Thranduil had been so angry at Caladhel's actions and at his conversation with his aunt that he had not had much time for any other emotion. It was not until he stepped outside and saw Iordor and his guards awaiting him that Thranduil felt fear. He saw that fear reflected in Iordor's eyes and the eyes of the elves who stood beside him. All of them fought beside Thranduil and his father on the plains of Dagorlad. They were brave and valiant ellyn all, even in the face of certain death. None among them could be called cowards. And yet they feared. For this was not the land of the enemy, this was their home, and never before had the good creatures of the wood rejected them.

Thranduil spied Taurhîn awaiting him the middle of the field. They had blown the trumpets and he came. That, at least, was something. Thranduil knew he had to make things right for the realm and his people and he feared he would fail. He took a deep breath to calm his thoughts and steady his mind. It did not help, but there was nothing else to be done. He crossed the expanse of grass to meet the other king of Greenwood Forest.

Thranduil halted five paces from the hart. He touched his heart and bowed his head. "Taurhîn, Lord of the Forest, I thank you for heeding my call."

He took a step forward and held out his hand but the hart snorted and stepped back. He would not permit Thranduil to touch him. Thranduil closed his eyes briefly and reached out with all his senses to search the beast's mind.

"I have angered you."

Thranduil suspected as much, of course, and he read it easily enough in the hart's behavior. What Thranduil needed to know was why. If he could not discern what it was that caused Taurhîn to turn against him, he could not make it right, but the minds of beasts were not like those of elves or men. Their motives were not always so easily deciphered.

Thranduil reached out to Taurhîn's mind again. He had to try. "Show me," he whispered.

Thranduil felt at once the wind upon his face as he ran through the forest under the trees. He jumped over fallen logs and streams. He was free and full of boundless joy in that freedom.

All at once the joy vanished, replaced by terror and pain. His leg was caught. He tried to flee but could not. He pulled at the snare until it cut his flesh. He had to brake free or he would die here. He had to break free!

Thranduil withdrew from Taurhîn's mind. His body was trembling and so too his breath. A tear fell away down his cheek. Taurhîn's terror had touched that place deep inside him where the instincts of all animals dwelt. It was a full minute before he mastered himself enough to speak.

"I understand," he said, and he did. "You would not set a snare for one of your own, nor see any other creature caged."

"She told you I held her captive here. She did not lie to you, and nor will I." Thranduil had not confessed his next nagging thought to anyone. It sparked when Caladhel hit the floor the night of the banquet and grew with his aunt's criticisms, Iordor's concerns and the whispers of his people. He had not admitted it, even to himself, but he did now. "I thought my actions justified at first, but now, I think, I might have been wrong."

Thranduil held out his hand to Taurhîn. The hart snorted, but this time he bowed his head so the King might touch him. "I know my actions have angered you and I know you owe me nothing, but I beg you to help us now. We must ride after her. You know well the dangers that dwell beyond our borders. If some evil befalls her within these woods, it will be my fault – and yours."

Taurhîn nodded his head, seemingly in agreement.

"I will not hold her here forever," Thranduil said. "You have my word. Will you aid us once more?"

The hart threw his head back and his cry echoed through the trees. Dozens of deer came crashing through the wood to join those already in the pasture.

Thranduil released a breath he had not realized he was holding. "Thank you," he said.

Taurhîn snorted, bowed his head, and allowed the King of Greenwood to climb on.


	11. Shield

**Chapter 10: Shield**

Thranduil led the company south as fast as the deer would carry them. Caladhel had a solid head start, but Thranduil was confident the deer would catch her horse. They were surer of foot and this was their forest not the open field. When the riders reached the turn onto the Forest Road Thranduil slowed and called out to the wardens in the trees.

"The rider?"

"She turned west on the road, sire!" a voice called down to them.

"How long ago?" Iordor asked.

"Not thirty minutes!"

Thranduil urged Taurhîn onward and they raced along the Forest Road. The deer began to slow after an hour. It was not in their nature to sustain such speeds for hours on end. Thranduil tried not to let frustration overtake him and he took comfort in the knowledge that Caladhel's horse would also be unable to sustain a great speed for long. They rode the miles to the next watch post. When they neared a figure appeared on the road to hail them.

"What news, my lords?" the warden asked.

Thranduil ignored the question. "When did the rider pass this post?"

The warden shook his head. "There have been no riders all day, sire."

Thranduil cursed silently and turned back to Iordor. "She must have turned off the road onto one of the southern paths."

"What was she thinking?" said Haldor.

"She's thinking we're more likely to catch her on the main road," Iordor replied. And to the King he added, "There are three paths between here and the previous post."

Thranduil knew that, of course. He had not been sitting on the throne so long that he had forgotten thousands of years scouting the wood. His mind raced back to his conversation with Caladhel in the library.

"Split up the guard," Thranduil commanded. "Twenty will ride with me along the third path. The remaining riders will check the other two."

"Why the third path?" Haldor asked.

"Because she was studying our maps and the third path will take her south and west to where the Gladden River meets the Anduin."

"Our scouts reported orc activity in that area of the forest less than a fortnight ago," said Iordor.

"Then we must hurry," Thranduil replied.

Iordor divided the riders up quickly and they were off. Thranduil's company broke off two miles back where the third path turned south. It was far narrower and more uneven than the Forest Road. Thranduil was certain Caladhel's horse would slow further in order to navigate the terrain. They would catch up to her in an hour, maybe two. He only hoped it was soon enough.

* * *

Caladhel had felt far more confident in her escape plan before she turned onto the southern path. The further south they rode the more she regretted her decision. Sídhel stumbled more than once on the uneven ground and was forced to slow to maintain steady footing. The forest grew denser south of the road and darkness closed in as the sun began to set below the trees. There were few breaks in the canopy and she was certain the dense leaves would blot out what little light the moon and stars offered.

Caladhel ran her fingers through Sídhel's mane in an attempt to comfort the animal's nerves. "We should have stayed on the Forest Road. Is that what you're thinking?"

Sídhel made a high pitched, anxious noise that sounded the way Caladhel felt. "I'm starting to agree with you."

The path turned westerly and soon a small stream came to run alongside it. Caladhel decided it was as good a place as any to rest. She slid from Sídhel's back and allowed the horse to drink her fill. Caladhel rummaged through the bag she took each day to the field. She pulled out a carrot for Sídhel and a piece of lembas for herself and the horse. She had carefully acquired the bread from the kitchen while Cendil was busy chatting with his lady friend. She brought the bag with her each day when visiting Sídhel so she would be prepared when her chance came to escape.

Caladhel fed Sídhel her carrot and a bit of lembas. She took a small bite herself before tucking the remainder of the bread back into her bag. She was about to say something to Sídhel about moving on when she realized something was wrong. The wood around her had grown unnaturally quiet. There was no noise but the rustling of the wind and the water tricking over stones. The birds had fallen silent and too the tiny insects that chirped and rustled ceaselessly beneath fallen leaves. Sídhel noticed, too. She began to snort and nicker with urgency. Caladhel swung herself astride Sídhel and turned her back in the direction they came.

"Get us out of here."

No sooner has she spoken then a roar echoed from the forest and one or more beasts came crashing through the trees. Sídhel needed no further encouragement. She was off as fast as her legs would carry them down the narrow path. Caladhel could hear the creatures pursuing them, and knew well what they were. Wargs. She doubted they were alone, and doubted further that Sídhel could outrun them in the woods.

Caladhel drew her bow, hoping beyond hope that she would not have need to use it. That hope vanished when she caught sight of the beasts pursuing them through the trees. She could make out three. The two in the wood bore riders and a third riderless beast followed on path behind them. Caladhel felled the warg on the path with an arrow to its eye but she could not get a clear shot at the riders through the trees. When the path widened a bit the riders came up alongside her, left and right. She shot the orc on her left who swung a sword at her head but failed to see the spear in the other rider's hand.

The orc threw the spear at Sídhel, hitting her in the neck.

"Sídhel!" Caladhel cried as the horse shrieked and reared. Caladhel had to roll away as the animal collapsed on its side, no easy feat in the dress she wore. Caladhel recovered from her fall and took out the warg as it turned back towards her and the one that followed from behind, but it would not be enough. She could hear more riders approaching from all sides, surrounding her.

One of the orc riders charged her and she shot him in the heart but at the same time another came up behind her. He snarled before he struck and she turned in time to see his blade rising. Caladhel lifted her bow to block the dagger but was half a second too slow.

The orc shrieked unexpectedly when an arrow pierced its heart and it crumpled to the ground. The creature's sudden demise surprised Caladhel, but she had no time to think about it before a third orc was upon her with a raised blade. He would have cleaved Caladhel in two, but a hand grabbed her from behind and threw her to the forest floor out of the blade's path. Caladhel's savior wielded two swords. With one he blocked the orc blade and with the other he took the beast's head clean off.

"Move!" he shouted at her.

Caladhel was too grateful to be alive to be angered by the Thranduil's actions or his harsh command. She was on her feet a second later with her bow drawn. She took down two more orc as they ran toward them.

The warriors with Thranduil engaged the orcs. He had brought a company of twenty, but Caladhel feared they were outnumbered for she could hear more wargs approaching through the trees. The elves formed into a circle so their backs were guarded. Thranduil retreated a few steps, forcing Caladhel behind the guards where she was less likely to be hit by a stray blade.

"Stay behind me," he said.

"Give me a sword," Caladhel countered. He had two, after all.

Thranduil seemed to consider her request for a moment before he shook his head. "You are better with a bow."

Caladhel had no idea how he could know that, as he had never watched her wield a sword, but there was no time to argue. A roar from the wood brought forth a fresh wave of warg riders. Caladhel took three of the beasts down, but their riders leapt from their fallen mounts and into the fray. Thranduil's warriors cut down the attacking orcs while Caladhel focused her bow on the wargs. She took down four more of the beasts before a command was heard from amidst the orc ranks.

"Vras kalus!"

Thranduil had fought in enough battles against the enemy to know the meaning of those words. _Kill the archer. _

Thranduil sought Caladhel and found that she had moved away as the circle expanded. She was targeting a warg off to their left flank oblivious to the fact she had been marked. The orc arrow came within a foot of her heart before he cut it out of the air. He threw his left blade to the ground and grabbed her by the arm. The second arrow, meant for Caladhel's head, struck him in the back as he turned to draw her behind him. A momentary grimace of shock and pain flashed across his face, but he recovered quickly. So did Caladhel. She drew her bow and felled the orc archer who shot him.

"My Lord!" Iordor shouted as he fought his way to Thranduil's side. "How bad is it?"

Thranduil ignored Iordor's question. "Get her out of here!"

Iordor thought for a moment to argue, for the King was injured and he needed every sword they had. "Thranduil."

"Now!"

There was no room for argument in the King's command. Iordor turned and shouted loudly into the forest and a moment later a deer burst through the trees. He jumped on and held out his hand to Caladhel. "Come on!"

Caladhel did not want to leave the others but she would not dismiss the King's command this time. He had warned her about the dangers beyond his borders, but she refused to listen. It was her stubbornness and thoughtless actions that led Thranduil and his warriors into danger, and if any died, the fault would lie with her. She was a liability now. They would fight better without the need to protect her. She got off two more shots before she took hold of Iordor's hand and swung on behind him.

Caladhel kept her eyes on Thranduil. He continued to fight despite the arrow's shaft jutting grotesquely from his back. He cut down two more orc before Iordor spurred their mount forward and it carried them away into the night.


	12. Blame

**Chapter 11: Blame **

Beleth ran to the front gate when the trumpets signaling the approach of riders sounded through the halls. Her husband was already outside. Hope blossomed in her heart when a deer emerged from the wood carrying Caladhel and a warden, but her spirits fell when no more riders followed. Beleth ran across the narrow bridge to meet them. Her husband followed close behind. By the time they reached the field Caladhel had dismounted. She looked affright. Her white dress was muddied and tattered and there were splatters of something dark upon the cloth.

Beleth reached out her hands and took hold of Caladhel's. "Where are Thranduil and the others?"

"There were orcs," Caladhel replied. "He ordered Iordor to get me away."

Túven took note of the young warden who delivered Caladhel back to Limrond. "Where is Iordor now?"

"He returned with more warriors to aid the King."

"And Thranduil?" Beleth asked.

Caladhel could not keep the fear and anxiety she felt for the King from reaching her eyes when she answered. "He was fighting when I last saw him."

Beleth saw Caladhel's fear and worried at its cause. She knew her nephew to be a fierce and capable warrior and did not think Caladhel would doubt his ability unless something terrible had passed. "What happened?"

"An arrow struck him in the back."

"How did he get shot in the back?" Túven asked. It was not the kind of injury one was likely to suffer unless caught unawares and Thranduil was far too experienced to turn his back to the enemy.

"The arrow was meant for me," Caladhel replied. "He turned aside to draw me behind him, and so doing, stepped into the arrow's path."

Túven's anger sparked and in that moment the emotion was too much for him to restrain. "Our king is far too benevolent. He should have let the orcs have you!"

"Túven!" Beleth was shocked by her husband's outburst. She knew he held no love in his heart for Caladhel, but to even think such a thing…

Túven rounded on his wife, splitting his fury between Caladhel and Beleth. "Do not tell me you would trade your nephew's life for hers!"

Beleth flinched at the venom behind her husband's accusation but she gave him no reply. Nothing she could say would soothe his rage. Instead, she took Caladhel's arm in hers. The elleth was trembling and tears welled behind her eyes.

"Come. Let us get you cleaned up." She drew the elleth away from Túven and into the palace. She guided Caladhel silently to her room.

Caladhel tried to fight back the tears, but after the first fell she was lost. When they reached her room Beleth hurried to fill the tub with water and Caladhel followed her into the washroom. The sound of the water flowing over stone soothed Caladhel's nerves. When the tub was filled, Beleth helped her shed her ruined dress and she sank into the tub. Beleth sat beside her with a brush in hand and began working the knots out of her hair. The cool water upon her skin brought Caladhel's mind back to life and her thoughts into focus.

"I never meant for this to happen," she said.

"I know," Beleth replied.

"Sídhel is dead, and perhaps others as well. All because I could not let him win."

Beleth understood Caladhel's stubborn nature well. It ran in their line, too. No doubt it could be traced all the way back to the shores of Cuiviénen. "Stubbornness is a trait you both share."

Caladhel drew her knees up to her chest and rested her head upon them. The tears came faster now and she wept into the crook of her arm.

Beleth refused to let the Lady despair when the fate of her nephew and his warriors was yet uncertain. She laid a hand on the elleth's arm to draw her attention.

"Look at me," she said. When Caladhel turned her head to meet Beleth's eyes, she spoke again. "Your attempt to flee on your own was foolhardy, I do not deny that, but it was not your intention to bring injury to anyone. Thranduil's actions provoked yours. He was the one who held you here against your will and so the fate he and his warriors face now is of his own making. I know you worry for them, but the elves who guard this kingdom have faced great evil and lived to tell the tale. They are strong and capable fighters all."

Caladhel was silent for a long while contemplating Beleth's wisdom. There might well be enough blame to go around that Thranduil could share in part of it, but it was not enough to lighten the weight on her heart. Caladhel knew Beleth's judgment of Greenwood's warriors to be true as well, for she witnessed first hand how fearlessly they engaged the enemy. She was more assured now that they would be well, or at least, that none would blame her for any ill that befell them in battle. There was only one who might feel otherwise, and she would not blame him if he did.

Caladhel's eyes sought Beleth's once more. "The arrow that hit Thranduil was meant for me. If he holds me in such contempt, why didn't he let it hit me? I doubt any would have blamed him had I fallen during the attack." Caladhel could not understand why an ellon who treated her with such disdain would choose to shield her from danger.

Beleth, for her part, was not at all surprised by her nephew's actions. It was no easy thing to read Thranduil's thoughts or intentions so Caladhel's confusion was understandable. Beleth was better at reading her nephew than most, and one thing had been clear to her from the start. "It is not contempt Thranduil feels for you, believe me. If he did, he would not have wasted a single moment on you. You would have returned to Lothlórien the very day you came. What he saw when he met you was a threat, a mystery, and a challenge, and one held as such is not accounted low, but marked as an equal – or a better."

"And as for allowing the arrow to hit you," Beleth shook her head, "such an act is not in his nature. You do not know Thranduil well. You have seen only his anger, but that is not all he is. He has a deep love for his people and this wood, and what Thranduil chooses to love, he will defend without hesitation."

Caladhel had little reason to doubt Beleth's words, but one thing about Beleth's statement continued to trouble her. "I am not one of his people, or of this wood."

"No," Beleth agreed, "but as long as you dwell beneath these trees you are his to protect."

Caladhel supposed Beleth was correct. She could not imagine her uncle or Amroth allowing someone to die within their borders were it in their power to save them. But Túven's words echoed in her mind, in particular those directed at his wife.

"But Túven is right," said Caladhel. "My life is no more worthy than your king's."

Beleth laid a hand on Caladhel's shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze. "Do not take my husband's words to heart. They were spoken in anger and born from despair. He loves Thranduil like a son. He is all we have left."

Caladhel closed her eyes and rested her head once more upon her knees. She tried her best to push Túven's words to the back of her mind, but hard as she tried, she could not banish them or the fear that she might have stolen someone precious from Beleth as well. She recalled the way Túven had turned on his mate and the venom with which he spoke. Caladhel wondered now more than ever how Beleth had come to marry such an ellon.

"What was Túven like when you married him?"

Beleth knew what it was Caladhel truly wished to ask. "You mean was he different from how he is now?"

Caladhel nodded.

"He was very different," Beleth said. "We were wed beneath the stars, before the sun rose for the first time, before Morgoth returned to Middle-earth and led his orcs down from the north. The world was at peace and so was his heart. He used to smile and laugh all the time. He knew joy. We both did. The wars with Morgoth and Sauron changed him, and our son's death was the final straw. He knows no joy anymore."

Caladhel grieved for Beleth and the mate she lost to time. "Has he thought to sail?" It was what most did when the changing of the world finally broke them.

Beleth shook her head. "He will not leave Thranduil without a father. My brother is with our son, and Túven swore that he would not abandon Oropher's. My husband does not break his word."

Caladhel had no great love in her heart for Túven, but in this, at least, she found a measure of respect for him. She did not care to think how lost she would be without her own aunt and uncle to love and guide her. "It is good the King has you both."

A shadow fell across Beleth's face. "Sometimes I fear we are not enough."

Caladhel had no words of comfort to offer so she fell silent while Beleth worked the last of the knots out of her hair. When she was done Beleth rose from her seat. "I will leave you to your bath. Try to get some sleep. We will surely know more in a few hours."

"Will you send word to me when they arrive?" Caladhel asked.

"Of course," Beleth replied. She departed, leaving Caladhel alone with her troubled thoughts.

* * *

Caladhel was exhausted and she fell into a fitful sleep the moment her head hit the pillow. She did not know how many hours passed before a knock sounded on her door. She startled at the sound and was up in an instant to open the door.

"Haldor!" Caladhel threw her arms around the warden, abandoning propriety and sparing not a thought for the stains upon his clothes.

Haldor returned her embrace for a moment before he drew back. There were tears in her eyes but they shone, too, with joy at the sight of him.

"Where is the King?" she asked.

"My father took him to his rooms," Haldor replied. "He is being treated now."

"The arrow?"

"It hit his shoulder, but missed his lung, thank the Valar," Haldor replied. "He may not wield a sword with his right arm for awhile, but it will mend so long as they draw the poison."

"Poison?" Caladhel had not thought about that possibility. "Will he be alright?"

"We packed the wound with athelas while we traveled and Lord Túven is drawing the rest out now," he replied.

_Túven?_ Caladhel frowned. "I was not aware Lord Túven was a healer."

Nor was Haldor. He had been slightly puzzled when his father guided the king to his private chambers instead of the healing ward and directed Haldor to summon Lord Túven. "Nor was I, but my father sent for him. I expect one as old as Lord Túven has been many things."

Caladhel was certain Lords Iordor and Túven would do all they could for their king. With Thranduil's welfare assured, her concern turned to his warriors. "And the others?"

"Only a few scrapes and broken bones. All will mend."

Caladhel was glad to hear it and with this news much of the weight upon her heart lifted. It did not vanish entirely, and no small measure was reserved for the ellon who stood before her now. She owed him an apology.

"I am sorry I deceived you. I hope you will not be punished too harshly for my actions."

"All is well," Haldor assured her. "I already received a tongue lashing from the King and my father's idea of punishment is to deploy me to a quiet border. I depart in a few minutes."

Caladhel was glad to hear he had not suffered too greatly for her actions. "I'm glad you will have a real job to do. Perhaps some dwarves will happen upon your quiet border so you might harass them."

"One can only hope," Haldor replied, smiling. "But before I depart, I did wish to applaud you for your theatrical talent." When Caladhel's expression changed to one of puzzlement, he added, "My favorite part was your poor aim."

Caladhel's face turned red from embarrassment. She recalled his jibe for her terrible aim when she sent the arrow off into the tree. It was amusing at the time, and more so now. She could not help but laugh. "Truth be told," she replied. "I am better with a bow than a blade."

Haldor would not soon forget the arrow she fired off the side of the target in order to give herself more distance to flee or those that felled the attacking wargs. "Really?" he said, laughing. "I never would have guessed."

When their shared amusement ran its course, Caladhel's mind sobered. She was glad everyone was safe, but had not forgotten that she was once again Thranduil's prisoner. "Will I be carted off to the dungeon now?"

"No," Haldor replied. "In fact, my father has lifted the guard on you."

That was not the answer Caladhel had expected. "Why?"

Haldor smiled at her kindly. "I suspect he believes you will not run again."

Caladhel sighed. "He is right."

Iordor knew he would be, and having delivered Caladhel the latest news, it was time for him to depart. "I must be going now."

"Good journey, Haldor."

"Lady Caladhel." Haldor took her right hand in his and laid a kiss upon it. "If you don't mind my saying, I hope not to see you here when I return."

* * *

Caladhel kept to her room for most of the following day. She had a few books still on the dresser and had no desire to answer questions about her attempted escape. An elleth from the kitchen brought her breakfast and lunch so she did not expect the knock on her door mid afternoon.

Caladhel laid down her book and rose from her spot on the bed. She opened the door and was surprised at the sight of her visitor.

"Daerel." She recognized the child immediately. The young elleth stood before her door with two cups and a steaming pot on a tray.

"I brought you tea," she said.

The child was clearly anxious she would be turned away but Caladhel gestured for her to enter and directed her to place the tray on her dressing table. "Thank you, child."

Daerel laid the tray down and turned toward Caladhel. She wrung her hands nervously and Caladhel could see she had something to say. She waited for the child to muster her courage. When she did, big blue eyes looked upon Caladhel in amazement. "You are very brave," she proclaimed.

Caladhel could not help but laugh but no humor reached her eyes. "You think so?" she said, and sat herself on the bed. "I feel like a fool."

Daerel's bright expression fell and a look of confusion settled upon her face. She took a seat beside Caladhel. "Why?" she asked. "Because you wished to go home?"

"No," Caladhel replied, "because people were hurt. The King said I could not leave until he decided and I wanted to prove him wrong. I was not thinking of anyone else."

Daerel considered the Lady's answer for a moment before she spoke again. "I still think it was brave," she said, "but perhaps, a bit reckless, too."

Caladhel did not know if she would call her actions brave, but she certainly thought the child right about the second part. "The King took an arrow for me. I didn't even see it coming."

"Good thing he did."

All in Limrond had heard what fate befell the King when he rode out after the Lórien lady. Everyone thought his sacrifice noble, though a few wondered aloud why he would risk his life for the sake of a prisoner's. Daerel, for her part, thought the entire tale incredibly romantic.

Caladhel sighed. "I need to thank him, but I don't know where he is."

"I know where he is," Daerel offered.

"You do?"

Daerel was clearly pleased to be of help and brightened measurably. "Lady Beleth is attending him in his rooms. I brought them lunch earlier."

"Can you show me?" Caladhel asked.

"Of course!"

Daerel jumped to her feet. She was very fond of Caladhel and thought the Lórien lady would make an excellent queen, if only she could forgive their king for losing his temper. Daerel thought saving the Lady from orcs was a fine start, for she would certainly swoon had an ellon rescued her from death. Daerel would do anything she could to help bring the Lady and the King together. When Caladhel rose, she took the Lady's arm and led her to the King's quarters.


	13. Beneath the Skin

**Chapter 12: Beneath the Skin**

Thranduil's shoulder throbbed incessantly but it was only a minor irritation. The pain was nothing. He had known so much more. Túven drew what he could of the poison and without thinking announced that it would cause the wound to scar. Thranduil wanted to laugh, but no sound came. His uncle, realizing what he had said, immediately begged apology for his thoughtlessness. Thranduil waved the apology away with his scarred left hand, for he could not move his right the way it was bandaged.

The poison had hours to invade Thranduil's body on his journey back to Limrond so that by the time Iordor helped him to his room his strength had all but abandoned him. He allowed the illusion to collapse the moment Iordor shut the door. After doing what they could for his injuries, Iordor and his uncle bid him to rest and departed.

Alone at last, Thranduil sat himself in his favorite chair beside the fire and stared into the flames, willing his eyes not to seek out the mirror. It stood beside the dresser, calling to him, demanding that he look. His thoughts screamed to focus on the fire but his eyes eventually betrayed him. The mirror stood at such an angle that he could see only the scarred side of his body. The ruined flesh ran along the left side of his face, down his chest and arm to his hand. It looked no different now from when the burns first healed over.

Thranduil made one more attempt to shield the scars from sight but failed utterly. He was too tired, too weak, and he found it strange, for the mask he wore each day had become second nature over time, so much so that it would have taken effort to bring it down but a few hours ago. Only a handful of times in the last three millennia had he looked upon his true face, and each time it had not been his will to do so. The most recent was the night he was crowned king, when he was finally forced to face his father's death and all that came with it. The pain became momentarily too great to bear and the illusion slipped. It only fell for a few seconds before he regained control. It would take longer this time. He suspected it would be days before he was strong enough to hide again.

Thranduil could not draw his eyes away from his own reflection. In the flickering light of the fire he appeared monstrous and his mind drifted to dark places as he sat staring at himself. His shoulder throbbed. He thought of the scar that would live there and was annoyed that his good side was now also blemished.

His good side.

It shielded Caladhel from the arrow. He wondered what that meant, if it meant anything at all. Did he even have a good side? He had thought so once, but now he was not so sure. There were things he had been sure of. He had been sure of Caladhel, certain she hid some dark intention behind her courtesy and her smile. Her pretty face was just a mask. It had to be. He had been so sure.

Thranduil continued to stare into the mirror as his thoughts recalled every moment from the time Haldor announced Caladhel's arrival until he ordered Iordor to ride with her to safety. He studied every moment, every gesture, every word, every expression on her face. Over and over again for hours he accounted them until he had pulled the memories apart, until there was nothing left.

Beleth arrived with Thranduil's breakfast and found him still seated in his chair staring into the mirror. She laid the tray on the table beside him and caressed his hair.

"You must rest," she said.

"I am resting," he replied.

Beleth sought his eyes in the mirror for he would not look away even when he spoke. "You are staring," she corrected him, "and thinking. That is not resting." She stroked his hair to soothe him. "Your strength will return in a few days and all will be well."

"No," he replied. "I don't think so."

Beleth frowned. "Why do you say that?"

Thranduil exhaled deeply. His left hand rose and caught Beleth's as she ran her fingers over his hair. Her small hand fit inside his and he gave it a gentle squeeze. He remembered when his own hand fit inside his aunt's. It had been so long ago and for such a brief amount of time, but he recalled it vividly, the way her hand enclosed his and how often the gesture had comforted him.

His eyes sought Beleth's in the mirror but only the dead one was reflected in the dim light. "I saw myself when I looked at her."

Beleth's brow furrowed. She did not understand. "What do you mean?"

Thranduil released Beleth's hand and raised his to within an inch of his face. He could not bring himself to touch what remained of his cheek. "When she first arrived to deliver Celeborn's letter I thought she wore a mask and that it hid something dangerous underneath. It was me I was seeing."

Thranduil watched understanding light his aunt's eyes. Sadness followed soon after.

"Thranduil."

He closed his eyes against the emotion he saw in hers. He knew his weakness stirred her pity and he hated feeling weak, but he was so tired… "Leave me, please."

"You need to eat," she said.

"I will."

Beleth did not want to leave her nephew in his current state, but she would do as he asked. "I'll be back later."

Thranduil nodded to his aunt. He watched her slip out the door, leaving him once again alone with his thoughts and his reflection.

* * *

Beleth returned to Thranduil's chambers shortly before midday. She discovered that despite his earlier promise he had not eaten. His breakfast sat forgotten on the table beside him and when Daerel arrived with their midday meal Beleth traded the cold meal for a hot one. She cut the food into pieces before setting the tray beside him.

"Eat," she commanded.

Thranduil looked at the plate set before him. He felt no hunger. Even the aroma of his favorite meal lovingly prepared did nothing to stir his appetite. "I am not hungry."

Beleth laid her hand on his head and tapped gently. "It does not matter if you are hungry. You know you have to eat. You are wearied enough from the poison and will not help yourself by starving."

Thranduil wished Beleth would stop bothering him, but he could not even will himself to feel annoyed. He was too tired to argue. His habit of disagreeing with his aunt, however, was a difficult one to break. He could not stop himself from offering resistance, albeit halfheartedly.

"Why must you be such a pest?"

Beleth leaned down and kissed the top of his head. "Because I love you."

Thranduil sighed and his attention returned to the tray. His eyes passed over the cut mouthfuls of meat and vegetables and alighted on a small casserole containing baked apples. "May I start with dessert?"

Beleth smiled at the memory of that same plea spoken by Thranduil as a child. Her answer had always been no, but under the present circumstances, she was willing to alter her refrain. She picked up the fork and slapped it into his left hand. "If the King will eat, he can begin wherever he desires."

Thranduil did not eat as much as Beleth would have liked, but he had a few mouthfuls of everything before he pushed the plate aside. She removed it and afterwards tended the fire in the hearth. Beleth wanted to light the lamps. She did not think the darkness helped her nephew's mood, but when she made the suggestion, Thranduil refused to allow it.

Beleth went to his dresser and returned to his side a moment later with a brush in her hand. Túven and Iordor had taken great care of their king's injuries, but they had no concern for the state of his hair. As she had done before for Caladhel, Beleth began to slowly work out the knots. She thought he might protest, for she had not brushed his hair since he was a child, but Thranduil said nothing. He closed his eyes and his breathing fell into a slow and steady rhythm. For a time she thought he slept, so when he spoke it surprised her.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Beleth did not respond with words, she merely ran the fingers of her free hand lovingly through his hair and across his scalp before continuing her work with the brush. She worked in silence for a long while, offering her nephew what little comfort she could by her presence and her gentle touch.

Beleth's work was interrupted by a knock on the door. She set the brush down on the table beside Thranduil before answering it. She expected to find her husband on the other side, and so was surprised at whose face greeted her when she opened the door.

"Caladhel."

"Beleth." Caladhel read both surprise and unease in the Lady's expression and worried that she had made a mistake in coming.

"How did you…?" Beleth began, but Caladhel answered her question before she could complete the thought aloud.

"You know how much trouble I can get into if I set my mind to it."

A smile tugged at the corners of Beleth's mouth. "I do, indeed."

Caladhel peered into the dark room beyond the door. "Is he here?"

"Yes, he is," Beleth replied, "but he will not see you now."

Caladhel's hope of setting things right with the King of Greenwood dimmed measurably. "I only wish to thank him, and to apologize."

"Perhaps in a few days," Beleth said, but from the depths of the room a voice said otherwise.

"Let her in."

The King's unexpected intrusion into their conversation startled Caladhel and Beleth both.

Beleth turned and spoke over her shoulder into the darkness. "Thranduil. You don't have to…"

"Let her in," he repeated, "and go."

Caladhel watched the concern in Beleth's eyes deepen. The lines of her face drew into a frown but she stepped aside to allow Caladhel entry. Beleth reached out a hand and gave her arm a squeeze. Caladhel was unable to read the meaning behind the gesture and was given no time to ask for the Lady swiftly departed, shutting the door and leaving her in the dimly lit room with Thranduil.

Caladhel's eyes adjusted quickly. Even so, it was too dark to make out much of the room's details. The only light came from the fire in the hearth to the right of her. She could see the silhouette of the King seated in the chair before it and stepped closer. His right shoulder was bandaged and the arm appeared bound to his chest to prevent movement. The left side of his face was hidden from her sight for he stared into the fire and did not look her way as she approached. He neither greeted nor attacked her, and so Caladhel found herself unsure of how to begin. A traditional 'good day' seemed entirely inappropriate. In the end, the decision of what to say was taken from her hands when Thranduil spoke first.

"You are skilled with a bow."

During her short journey to Thranduil's quarters Caladhel had tried to prepare for all the myriad ways their conversation might begin. None of her imaginings included a compliment from him. She was unsure how to respond, for she felt more off balance now than she had during their first encounter in the throne room.

"Thank you," she replied, extending the conventional courtesy, "though I am more fond of the sword."

"But you are more skilled with a bow."

Caladhel did not know how Thranduil could have come to such a conclusion regarding her abilities having only seen her once with a bow. "How would you know? You never saw me wield either before yesterday."

"I know because if your skill with a blade was greater, you would have waited until you acquired one before you fled."

Caladhel was struck by the utter simplicity of Thranduil's reasoning and it disturbed her that he seemed to know her better than she knew herself. The truth was she had not thought once on how to acquire a sword while planning her escape, she had only sought to procure a bow. There was only one elf Caladhel could blame for that semiconscious decision.

"My father believed the sword to be the most terrible device our people ever created. He did not consider its practice an appropriate pastime for his daughter."

"So you took up archery instead?"

Caladhel shrugged. "A compromise, of sorts," she replied, recalling the argument she and her father had now more than two millennia past. "To spite him, I practiced more often than he liked. I even competed in a few tournaments. He hated it."

"You were a difficult child," he said.

"No more than you, I imagine," Caladhel shot back. There was no malice in the King's tone when he spoke the former, but his statement made Caladhel defensive. Her father had thought her difficult, but for one reason alone. "Had I been born male there would have been no difficulty."

There was a brief pause before Thranduil said, "You would have made a fine son."

The King said this without any hint of mockery and once again Caladhel was unsure how to respond. It was the second compliment he had given her since she walked through the door and it made her uneasy. Their prior interactions were marked by tension and during each one Caladhel felt as if she were one wrong word or step away from danger. In contrast, the ellon she spoke with now sounded weary, defeated, and she wondered briefly if Thranduil's injuries were greater than Haldor let on.

Thranduil was, of course, not the first person to point out what some considered Caladhel's masculine quality. It upset her greatly when she was young, but Galadriel had been a comfort to her niece by pointing out that she, too, was viewed in a similar light. "It is a fate I share with my aunt," Caladhel said at last, "or so she has told me."

At the mention of Galadriel, Caladhel thought she caught a flash of pain in Thranduil's eye. She could not be sure, for she could barely see him in the dim light with the flames casting shadows all around him.

"You told Beleth you came to apologize," he said, changing the subject entirely.

"I did," Caladhel replied. She took a deep breath, and spoke the words she rehearsed in her head before she arrived at his door. "My actions were selfish and born out of my desire to defy you. Many have suffered injury because I could not leash my pride. Your guards did not deserve to pay for my mistake, and neither did you." Caladhel's apology was heartfelt, but not all too easy to offer an ellon who she believed would answer with indignation.

"Or perhaps this is exactly what I deserve."

That was not the response Caladhel had prepared for and she might well have agreed with him a day ago, but not today. She had no qualms about blaming Thranduil for his actions these last few weeks, but if Caladhel would lay his actions at his feet, then she had to take responsibility for hers. "No…" she began, but was quickly interrupted.

"Do you know what I think?" Thranduil asked, but he did not wait for Caladhel to answer before he continued. "I think I was wrong. I wanted to see darkness beneath the surface of your face, hiding behind your smile. But it was I all along. I am the darkness."

Caladhel shook her head in confusion. "I do not understand."

Caladhel took one more step toward the King and watched him shift uncomfortably in his seat. He continued to stare into the fire and she wondered what held his attention there. She had grown accustomed to his aggressive posturing. The fact that he failed to so much as glance her way was as troubling as his words. Thranduil reclined his head against the chair and closed his eyes. A grimace of pain twisted the lines of his face. He sat in silence for a while, so long that Caladhel thought he had forgotten her.

"They do not trust me, your Ringbearers," he said at last. "They fear I will fall. They feared it during the war with Sauron and now even more that I wear my father's crown. That is why they withheld a ring from my father and offered it to Círdan instead, though Oropher was High King of the Sindar in Middle-earth."

Caladhel did not know what to think of the King's strange declaration. She was not privy to her aunt's thoughts on Thranduil, or to Lord Elrond's, though she had not heard either one speak ill of him. And yet, the surety with which Thranduil spoke these accusations caused Caladhel to wonder what he might know that she did not.

"Why would they not trust you?"

He sighed deeply before turning his gaze upon her for the first time. The firelight lit the far side of his face, kept hidden from her sight before now. It revealed more than Caladhel imagined.

"Because the Shadow corrupts everything it touches."

It took Caladhel no more than a second to master her shock and horror, but she was certain the emotions lingered long enough on her face for the King to see. She approached the chair and moved to stand before the fire so Thranduil did not have to turn to see her. His eyes followed her as she moved across the room. _No, only one eye._ His left eye was a pale white and she doubted he saw anything with it.

Caladhel knew only a handful of elves who bore physical scars. Their race was strong and most injuries healed and were forgotten with time. She knew of a few who were stabbed or shot with poisoned weapons. The poison caused small scars that remained visible to elven eyes for centuries, though the eyes of men would be unable to detect the imperfections. Most of those scars were easily hidden beneath the clothing their bearers wore. In all her years, Caladhel could recall only one ellon who suffered such a wound where others could see, a pale thin line that ran across his throat. She saw him once in Lindon as a child, but never learned his name.

Caladhel had never seen damage to the extent Thranduil suffered, for if those so injured did not die, they sailed. Standing before him now she could see the burns covered not only his face but ran down the left side of his body. Caladhel could not imagine the strength of will it took to survive such an injury and remain on this shore.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Morgoth and his dragons."

Caladhel's breath caught in her throat and her jaw opened slightly. Thirty-five hundred years? She had not expected his injuries to be so old. The damage looked too recent. "Why does it not heal?"

Thranduil's gaze moved to the hearth behind her, his attention fixed upon the flames. "Dragon-fire is a cursed flame that time cannot mend."

Cursed. A light dawned in Caladhel's mind with that simple word, connecting Thranduil's earlier accusation to the damage he revealed to her now. "And Lord Elrond and my aunt know of this?"

"Elrond was there," he replied. "He saw me blackened by the flames. Of the damage that remains, well, if they did not know before, they do now."

Caladhel could not say why, but his belief that she would tell others what he revealed pained her greatly. She knew he believed her to be her uncle's spy, but Celeborn had not sent her here to discover this secret, nor did she believe it was her uncle's business to know. As for her aunt and Elrond, if what Thranduil believed of them was true, then they already knew of the injuries he carried and she could tell them no more. Caladhel would not reveal his secret to any other. She was not heartless, nor was she ignorant of the debt she owed him for saving her life only hours ago.

Caladhel stepped closer to the chair until she stood a mere arm's length away. She wondered at the strength it took to maintain the illusion of wholeness and how long it would be before Thranduil recovered enough to try. He kept his gaze on the fire while she studied him. Scarred muscle and sinew were all that was left of his cheek. No skin remained.

"What does it feel like?" she asked.

"Like death," he replied.

Caladhel lifted her hand and reached out to touch his face. The movement awoke Thranduil from his torpor. His eyes abandoned the fire and his hand clamped down on Caladhel's wrist.

"Don't," he said, his voice a mixture of anger and fear.

The scorched flesh of his left hand felt strange against Caladhel's skin, but what was stranger still was the fear she saw in Thranduil's eye. "Why?" she asked. "Do you think your face frightens me?"

Caladhel knew better than most that Thranduil was a king to be feared. He could be arrogant and suspicious, stubborn and hot tempered. He had physical power and authority to command. He was like the Greenwood itself, wild and dangerous, but none of those qualities were a reflection of his face.

Caladhel frowned when he did not answer. "You can be an intimidating ellon when you choose to be, but the fear you stir in others has nothing to do with these scars."

The expression on Thranduil's face told Caladhel he disagreed. "Or maybe it has everything to do with them."

Caladhel said nothing. She merely pulled against his grip. He released her wrist, albeit reluctantly, and she stretched out her hand to him. Her fingers alighted on what remained of his cheek. Thranduil shut his eyes the moment her hand made contact and he gasped as if her touch burned. She traced the side of his face, marking the strange feel of bare muscle and sinew beneath her hand. Thranduil's breath trembled and a tear fell from his good eye and rolled slowly away down his cheek. The sight of his tears startled Caladhel. She had not meant to upset him or cause him any more pain. He had suffered enough because of her this day.

"Thank you," she whispered, "for saving me."

Caladhel withdrew her hand and it seemed to her that doing so caused him greater pain. She felt guilty for hurting him again. The arrow had been more than enough to draw them even. She would trouble him no more.

Caladhel did not wait for Thranduil to dismiss her, but having said what she came to, turned and fled.

* * *

_**A/N: **__I've always been supremely puzzled as to why Círdan got one of the elven rings when he lives on the coast as far as possible from Mordor while Oropher is right the hell there with Dol Guldur and Mordor surrounding him and he has to keep evil at bay with only swords and arrows. PJ's scarred Thranduil gave me the idea that his possible corrupted state combined with the general disharmony between the Noldor and the remaining Sindar Kings could explain why Oropher was passed over despite his high status and his people's proximity to danger. It may not be Tolkien's reason, but this explanation works for my movie-bookverse. _


	14. Echoes of the Past

**Chapter 13: Echoes of the Past**

Beleth paced nervously about her quarters, unsure of what to do. Thranduil was in such a fragile state – body, mind and soul. She feared Caladhel's reaction should her nephew reveal himself fully. She feared a single cruel word would tear him apart, and while she did not believe Caladhel heartless, there was no knowing how the Lady would react to the sight of Thranduil's scars.

Beleth continued to pace the length of the carpet, ringing her hands anxiously all the while. Túven found her thus. He came in as she completed a circuit and her distressed state caused him immediate alarm. He came to her side and took hold of her arms to halt her pacing.

"What is wrong?"

Beleth was so upset she did not think to skirt her husband's question and answered him straight away. "Caladhel came to see Thranduil."

Túven's eyes narrowed. "And?"

"They are speaking now."

"You let her in?"

Túven's anger rang clear in Beleth's ears and she immediately regretted her candor. She read disapproval on her husband's face, but refused to be blamed for what she had no power to control.

"Thranduil commanded it."

"What were you thinking, allowing her to see him like that?"

"It was not my decision to make!"

Túven dismissed his wife's excuses. They meant nothing to him, for Túven never bent to Thranduil's whims when he thought his nephew mistaken.

"Thranduil is in pain. He is not thinking clearly. You should have stopped him." He turned abruptly and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Beleth asked, fearful now that her husband might make matters worse.

"To save him from himself," he said on his way out the door.

"Túven!" Beleth called after him but she was too late. He was gone as suddenly as he came, leaving Beleth more anxious than before in her pacing.

* * *

When Thranduil finally opened his eyes he had no idea how long had passed since Caladhel departed. When she withdrew her hand the pain had been blinding and afterward Thranduil wished the arrow had struck his heart. It would have been an easier torment, surely, with a swifter end as well.

As the minutes passed, his senses calmed, and the agony of loss receded. He raised his hand to his cheek and with great trepidation touched the ruined flesh. He felt nothing and did not know whether to laugh or weep at the lack of sensation, for within his heart hope now warred with despair. He fought them both, willing them back into the recesses of his mind where long ago they were banished. They did not retreat willingly and Thranduil feared they would no longer be so easy to restrain.

Thranduil pulled himself together in time for a hand to knock on his door. He did not have to ask who came calling, for his uncle's knock was distinctive. Túven entered a second later. Even in the dark Thranduil marked his disapproval. He went straight to the hearth, drew a light stick from the ceramic holder and held it into the fire. Unlike his aunt, Túven did not ask Thranduil's permission before lighting the lamps. After the room was illuminated, Túven came to his nephew's side and lifted the edge of the bandage to check his wound.

"How is your shoulder?"

Thranduil had to think about the question before answering. His mind had not dwelt much on the injury. "It hurts," he replied, "and itches."

"Good," said Túven. The itching signaled the wound had begun to heal. Túven had feared it would take longer due to the poison, but that fear, at least, was unwarranted. "I must change the dressing."

Túven went to gather the supplies he left the night before on Thranduil's dresser. When he returned he had his nephew shift forward in his seat so he could unwind the cloth that held his arm and the dressing in place.

"Beleth told me you spoke with Caladhel."

Thranduil sighed deeply. He should have expected Túven's disapproval, but had not had time to consider his uncle's reaction before he walked through the door.

"What were you thinking?" Túven asked.

It was a simple question on the surface, but Thranduil found it difficult to answer. He had been thinking many things in the hours between when the arrow first struck him and the moment Caladhel arrived at his door. The sum of them amounted to one thing.

"I am tired."

Túven began applying a healing salve to the wound on Thranduil's back. "When I am done with the wrap you can rest."

"No," Thranduil corrected him. "I was thinking I am tired."

"Tired how?"

"I do not know."

"You do know," Túven replied. "Tell me."

There was a slight shift in Túven's tone at the last, barely perceptible, but clear enough to Thranduil. Oropher had altered his voice in a similar fashion to distinguish the king's command from the father's. The difference was not quite as subtle with Túven, for it was easier to discern his counselor's request from his uncle's command.

Thranduil was not eager to deal with his uncle so soon after his conversation with Caladhel and briefly considered dismissing his counselor's request. Were it not for the well of concern reflected in Túven's eyes when he met them, Thranduil would have done just that, but in the end he chose to answer his uncle, albeit reluctantly.

"I am tired of hiding," he said at last, "tired of the illusion of being whole. This is what I am. I only pretend to be otherwise. And by denying the injury to my body I have allowed it to claim part of my soul."

Túven shook his head. He disagreed with Thranduil's assessment. "They are only scars."

"Our bodies and souls are bound closer than those of mortals. You taught me that."

Thranduil's statement brought that particular lesson to the fore of Túven's mind. He silently cursed the long forgotten memory; one his nephew had clearly not lost to time. Thranduil had been so young and wanted to know more about the race of men. Túven took much effort to explain the differences between their peoples. The strength and nature of their bodies and souls had been a significant part of that lesson.

"I have spent so long denying what I am," Thranduil said.

Túven looked down at his nephew curiously as he secured the bandage. When he was done he stepped back and folded his arms across his chest. "And what is that, exactly?"

What, indeed? Thranduil knew the answer. It called out to him from the shadows of his mind and the darkest depths of his soul. It was given form in his cruel and violent actions since Caladhel arrived at his door.

"I am a monster."

Túven dismissed this conclusion with a huff. "You are being dramatic."

"Am I?" Thranduil asked. He leaned back again in his seat. Looking up, he sought his uncle's eyes and held them. "I hurt her, Túven."

"You saved her life."

Thranduil knew in Túven's mind saving Caladhel balanced the scales, or perhaps even tipped them in his favor. Thranduil did not agree, for whatever sacrifice he made in that moment could not erase all that came before.

"I might have saved her, but only after I hurt her. After I locked her in the dark. When she thought it wiser to flee on her own rather than remain in these halls at my mercy."

"There was nothing wise about her actions," Túven grumbled.

Thranduil was not surprised by Túven's bitterness towards Caladhel, though he, himself, no longer held her at fault. As for wisdom, Thranduil thought to remind Túven of their first conversation about the Lórien lady. "Caladhel is no simpering fool. Those were your words, Uncle."

Túven did not care to have his counsel thrown back in his face, and as he saw it, out of context. "I was not implying that she is wiser than you or I."

"Maybe she is," said Thranduil. His mind returned to Caladhel's insult the night he marked her face. The accusation haunted him, not for its rudeness, but for the weight of truth behind it. "The night of the banquet she said I was less of a king than Isildur."

"And you would heed those hollow words?"

Thranduil dropped his gaze and turned it back to the fire. "She sees me for what I am," he replied. "The illusion could not hide the truth from her. She saw through the mask."

Was that not why he invited her in? Because hiding what he was no longer mattered.

Túven laid a firm but gentle hand on his nephew's shoulder. "Look at me," he commanded, and he waited until he held Thranduil's gaze before he spoke again. "Your people love you. Your warriors trust in your command. You are a great king, like your father before you. Do not allow one elleth's words to cause you doubt."

Túven's praise did little to soothe him. In fact, his uncle's trust and faith in him had the opposite effect, for Thranduil did not wish to be found a disappointment. "I have doubted since the day you handed me my father's crown. Her words did nothing more than remind me of that fact." Thranduil took a deep breath before continuing. "My actions put the safety of our whole kingdom at risk. If Taurhîn had abandoned us, where would we be? How much trust would our people have had in me then?"

Thranduil noted the angry set of Túven's jaw when he spoke of the Lord of the Forest, but he knew that anger was directed at Caladhel. She did not deserve it.

"Caladhel told me she came only to deliver the news of her cousin's marriage and to judge our reactions to it." There was a long pause wherein he reached out his scarred hand and clasped his uncle's arm. "I believe her."

Túven was not convinced. "What makes you so sure?"

Thranduil found he could not answer his uncle's question honestly. Not because he lacked an answer, but because he did not feel comfortable speaking of Caladhel further knowing how much his uncle distrusted her.

"Have you ever just known something?" he asked in lieu of an answer.

Túven saw in his nephew's eyes that he would be getting no further response to his query. "You should rest," he replied. "Beleth will bring you dinner later."

Thranduil nodded. His uncle gathered together the soiled bandages and left him alone again with his thoughts. And as his mind replayed his conversation with Caladhel, his hand would now and then come to rest upon his cheek.

* * *

Beleth brought Thranduil his evening meal a few hours later. She cut it into pieces as before and this time he ate without protest. She was glad of the change, for she feared he would be more withdrawn than before his conversations with Caladhel and his uncle. He was not in as terrible a state as she feared, but nor did she mark his mood any better, only somewhat different than before. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she changed the sheets on his bed and placed a stack of cleaned linens in his bureau drawers. She noted that Thranduil raised his hand to his cheek more than once while she attended to chores. His fingers would reach out slowly to alight on the exposed muscles. A haunted expression would flicker across his face before his hand fell away.

After returning from his conversation with Thranduil, Túven instructed his wife to keep the lamps in their nephew's room lit. He did not tell her what they spoke of, nor did she ask. She did, however, agree to his instruction about the lamps and she checked each one now, ensuring they had enough oil for the remainder of the evening. When she was done, Beleth returned her attention to Thranduil to find his hand once again touching his face.

"Tell me what you are thinking," she said.

Thranduil dropped his hand back to the armrest. His absentminded action had betrayed him, for Beleth knew he hated to touch his scarred flesh. He could see concern in her eyes but hesitated to share his most recent musings even with his aunt.

"You do not care much for my thoughts of late."

"That is true," Beleth conceded, "but you are my brother's son and I love you. How am I to help direct your course if I know not which direction you are turning?"

Thranduil was heartened by his aunt's concern and the surety that she had the power to bend his will. He had wished his aunt less power over him when they first argued about Caladhel. He found it ironic that now he prayed for Beleth's strength to guide him.

For hours now Thranduil could not stop thinking of Caladhel's hand. The memory was so intense that he thought it might drive him mad. In an effort to avoid that outcome, he forced his mind to focus on something else, anything else. His efforts did not have their desired effect, for his mind, troubled as it was, was drawn to darker places and he soon found his thoughts trapped by those shadows instead.

"I think of Eöl," he said at last.

"Eöl?" Beleth had not heard that name spoken for an age. "Why?"

"I wonder if it was only enchantments he used to ensnare Aredhel."

Here the cause of Thranduil's musings became clearer to Beleth, for Eöl, too, had once held a Noldorin lady captive. But something in the tone and phrasing of her nephew's words made Beleth uneasy. The question of Eöl's deceptive conquest of Aredhel did not worry her, what caused Thranduil's curiosity did.

"What else do you imagine?" Beleth asked, though she was not certain she wished to hear his answer.

Thranduil had imagined quite a bit, too much, in fact, most of which he would not dare to speak. One thought above all refused to leave him, for it was echoed by a more recent memory.

'_You cannot keep her locked in the dark!'_

'_Can't I?'_

Thranduil shuddered at the memory of their argument and the surety that he would have left Caladhel in darkness had Beleth not intervened. "Maybe he kept her locked in the dark so long that she finally gave in."

Beleth's jaw fell open a small measure, shocked as she was by her nephew's dark musings.

Thranduil had no need to guess at his aunt's reaction for the horror of it was written on her face. "I warned you would not want to hear my thoughts."

"They are dark, indeed."

"Like the Shadow upon me."

"You are not cursed!" Beleth said with as much authority as she could muster.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I am not."

Beleth came to Thranduil's chair and dropped to one knee beside him. She reached out to his free hand and wrapped both of hers around it tightly. "Why do you dwell on such ugly thoughts?"

Thranduil was a long time in replying, but at last he shared with her the memory that haunted him. "She touched my cheek, what remains of it."

When he failed to continue after a minute, Beleth pressed. "And?"

Thranduil drew his hand from Beleth's and hesitantly pressed the tips of his fingers against the bare muscles of his face. His fingers once again registered the strange sensation of his ruined flesh, but the scars themselves were, as ever, without feeling.

"And I could feel it, the touch of her hand, the warmth of her skin. It drove the numbness away, like the dragon had never been. It only lasted while her hand lingered, and when she drew away I felt nothing again."

Thranduil dropped his hand from his face. "I was mistaken. I am the real threat to my kingdom, not Caladhel. I should release her."

Beleth had waited weeks for Thranduil to come to this conclusion. She was glad he finally conceded, though she wished the process had been less painful for him. "It is a wise and brave king who can admit his mistakes."

Thranduil reached out his hand to his aunt's again. He held it fast, but did not meet her eyes. "I know what I should do," he said, "and yet I find now, more than before, that I do not wish to set her free."

Beleth was disturbed by this new revelation, and in light of their earlier conversation regarding Eöl, feared to ask why. She did so anyway for Thranduil's sake.

"Why would you hold her here now?"

He closed his eyes against the answer and the aching of his heart caused the lines of his face to twist in pain. "I want to feel whole again."

Beleth drew Thranduil's hand to her heart and held it fast. His eyes opened and when he looked at her she saw despair. She could not leave him to drown in it, but did not know what to say to draw him from the depths. All Beleth could tell him was what she knew to be true.

"I do not know what power touched you when she set her hand upon your cheek, but I do know that warmth is not something you can take from another. It is something one must choose to give."

Thranduil knew his aunt was right. It was that simple truth that turned his thoughts to brooding. "I know. That is why I think of Eöl."

* * *

_**A/N:**__ For those of you not familiar with Eöl/Aredhel's tale, it's one the most disturbing stories Tolkien ever wrote. In his original version, Eöl finds Princess Aredhel lost in his forest and rapes her: __"he __took her to wife by force_:_ a very wicked deed in the eyes of the Eldar."__ Later, Tolkien decided that elves can't/won't/don't rape. Therefore, he changed the structure of the story to make it much more ambiguous and not a simple physical violation. In this version, Eöl used enchantments to get Aredhel lost in the forest and to trap her there where he then swoops in, rescues her and then 'takes her to wife.' Again, ambiguous in this context given the verb choice and that he uses magic and deception to trap and enthrall her in the first place. In regards to their marriage, Tolkien added the comment, '__It is not said that Aredhel was wholly unwilling,' which is a fabulously elegant description of dubious consent.__ After they are married, Eöl proceeds to tell Aredhel that she can never walk in the sun, never leave his forest, and never see or communicate with her family or any Noldor ever again. They have a son, Maeglin, and when he grows up she and her son eventually run away back to her family. Eöl hunts them down and arrives in the hidden city of Gondolin. Aredhel's brother tells Eöl that he and his son cannot leave the hidden city. Eöl, enraged, tries to kill his son with a poisoned javelin and hits Aredhel instead when she jumps in its path to protect Maeglin. Eöl doesn't tell anyone the weapon is poisoned and Aredhel dies that night. Eöl is thrown to his death from the walls of Gondolin as punishment._

_If you like literary criticism, there is a fabulous essay by Dr. Lynn Whitaker published in the journal Mythlore titled "__Corrupting beauty: rape narrative in The Silmarillion." It's an analysis of the stories of Aredhel and Lúthien as mythic mode/archtypal rape narratives. You can read it for free on the website thefreelibrary, but it is not a light read. _


	15. Letting Go

**Chapter 14: Letting Go**

Thranduil awoke and for the first time in days his shoulder did not immediately pain him. It still ached a bit, but not enough to remind him of the injury in those first few seconds of consciousness. He rose carefully so as not to aggravate his shoulder and as he did so his gaze moved by habit to the mirror. His reflection stilled him. He saw his face as it had been before the dragon, flawless once more, along with the rest of his body. He drew nearer to the glass to study the reflection more closely and marveled at his mind's ability to shield him from himself. There had been no need to call up the illusion. His unconscious mind conjured it while he slept.

The mask staring back at Thranduil sought to convince him the last few days could be forgotten, along with their accompanied pain and self-loathing. It told him all could be as it was before. Thranduil wanted so desperately to believe the lie, but his heart knew such deception was no longer possible. With a sigh, he turned his back on his reflection. The mask no longer had the power to comfort him. That time had passed into memory and would never come again. What remained unknown was if he could carry on without the deception.

Thranduil did not linger long on the question. He would carry on or he would fade. Such was life for the Eldar. It was a different question that plagued his thoughts. Thranduil pondered for many hours what he would do once he regained his strength, when he could no longer blame illness for his inaction. The answer came easily enough. It had been there from the very beginning. The will to follow through on it took strength, strength Thranduil feared he no longer possessed. That fear threatened to drag him down into despair. He drove it back with the only weapon he had left, action.

Thranduil moved to the foot of his bed and opened the chest seated there. It contained many things, on top of them all was a long satchel he placed there only weeks before. He set the bag upon his bed, and afterward, went to his desk and pulled out a blank sheet of parchment. Thranduil had always favored his right hand when writing, but took up the pen with his left. Once he decided on his message, he set words to parchment and was careful not to smudge the ink.

* * *

Caladhel startled at the knock on her door. It was less than an hour since she parted ways with Beleth and was not expecting anyone else to come calling. Caladhel knew well the sound of Beleth's cheery knock and Daerel's more hesitant one. This knock belonged to neither lady. Caladhel marked the page she was reading and set the book on the end table. She rose from her chair and answered the door. Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the ellon waiting in the hall.

"King Thranduil," she said.

"Lady Caladhel. May I come in?"

The question surprised Caladhel for two reasons. First, that he would bother to ask, having once before entered uninvited to ambush her. And second, that she thought she detected a hint of fear in his voice. Caladhel could not fathom the reason for either his courtesy or his fear. Puzzled by both, as well as his unexpected appearance, she could not find the words to speak, but stepped back and drew the door open further to allow him entry.

Caladhel studied him as he passed through the door. The cloak he wore did not quite hide the fact that his right arm was held in a sling. His natural gait was off a small measure due no doubt to the restriction of his arm, other than that, he appeared no different than the first time she met him, except, perhaps, for something in his eyes.

"Your strength has returned," she said, when at last she found her voice.

A frown formed on Thranduil's face, but he nodded. "Enough of it to walk the halls."

He raised his left arm and when the cloak fell back Caladhel realized he carried something with him, a long satchel with bronze buckles securing the flap. He laid the bag upon her dresser.

"These belong to you," he said.

Caladhel was not sure what he meant. She approached the bag cautiously and undid the buckles that held it shut. Upon opening it, she recognized the contents immediately and drew from it her sword. The sword, along with her bow and quiver, had disappeared the night of the banquet. She knew the King had taken them, but had no idea why he would return them now. She did not have time to ask, for Thranduil told her before she could give air to the question.

"You will be leaving for Lothlórien tomorrow at first light," he said. "Iordor will escort you home."

Caladhel turned her attention from her sword back to Thranduil. To say she was surprised by his declaration would be an understatement of some immensity. She studied his expression carefully, the lines of his face, but could read no ill motive. She did not think he toyed with her now, but could not be sure.

"Why let me go now after all you suffered to reclaim me?" She did not understand, and wondered what reason he might give.

Thranduil's expression grew pensive. He did not meet her eyes but looked away toward the hearth. His gaze lingered there for a while before he laughed, a short burst of air and mirth that briefly lit his eyes. "My father once told me the greatest benefit of being king is you do not have to explain yourself to anyone."

Caladhel could not help but smile, despite the fact he refused her an answer. He was not the first king she had heard make such a jest, Amroth, too, had said the same to her once. She would rather have had the truth from Thranduil, but was not sure he, himself, knew what it was.

Thranduil took a step toward her and from a hidden pocket of his tunic drew out a letter with his seal. "Give this letter to your uncle," he said, "and tell him my court will be honored to share in the celebration of his daughter's marriage."

Caladhel reached out slowly and took the letter from his hands. She ran her fingers across the sealed message and mulled over his words, considering them both. "Do you feel honored?" she asked of his carefully worded message.

Thranduil did not answer immediately. Instead he studied her face. Caladhel sensed he weighed how honest he should be with his answer. When he finally chose to speak, it was with far more honesty than Caladhel expected.

"Relieved might be more accurate," he confessed. And when Caladhel's expression morphed to one of puzzlement, he added, "I will no longer have to suffer my counselors droning on about how I should marry her."

Thranduil's voice was notably lacking in venom when he spoke of Celebrían compared to their previous conversations. It occurred to Caladhel then that his vitriol toward her cousin might have had less to do with his personal feelings and more to do with his counselors' unappreciated advice. It did not excuse Thranduil's rudeness, but gave it clearer cause. Caladhel shook her head, and smiled despite her lingering annoyance with him. She could think of no two elves in Middle-earth less suited than Thranduil and her cousin. She was, however, curious of which counselors he spoke. She doubted their number included Túven.

Caladhel's attention returned to the King. He was studying her reaction carefully. She could see it in his eyes. _His eye._ She had been lulled into forgetting his left eye was dead and wondered now at the illusion that brought life to it. Caladhel took a step toward him, her gaze fixed upon the left side of his face. She tried to see through the mask but it remained in place. It did not matter that she knew it to be fake, her eyes could not see past the illusion.

Thranduil's expression darkened as she studied him, but he did not avert his gaze.

"How does it work?" she asked.

There was no need to explain the question further. Thranduil knew what she meant. "All it takes is will," he replied. "You see what I want you to see."

Caladhel found his explanation disturbing. She was not comfortable with the idea that anyone could manipulate the senses of others so easily, and to so great an extent. She could scarcely imagine how it was possible, but admittedly, had no reason to try.

"Do all your people see you as I do now?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied.

"Beleth and Túven as well?"

"They, too."

"And you?"

Caladhel spoke the last before she had time to think better of it and Thranduil gave no reply. He did not have to. Caladhel knew the answer already. It was the reason his pain had been so great compared to the relatively minor injury he suffered. He could not hide from himself with the poison in his blood, which was why he sat alone in the dark.

It saddened Caladhel to think Thranduil hid from himself, too. She could not fathom hiding from her own reflection for an age and imagined the effort to do so would be exhausting.

"Does it not tire you?" she asked.

Thranduil considered her question before he answered. "Not for an age," he said, "except on rare occasions when some injury has befallen me. It is a part of me now, natural, like drawing breath."

Caladhel was surprised to find both comfort and sorrow in that fact. Her gaze fell to his left hand. The skin there, too, appeared unmarred. She remembered how strange the scorched flesh felt against hers and wondered if the illusion extended to that sense as well. Without thought she reached out her hand to his but before she could make contact Thranduil drew back as if her hand were a flame.

"I am sorry," she said quickly, embarrassed by her own rudeness.

Thranduil composed himself quickly and shook his head. "You have no reason to apologize."

Caladhel was surprised by his sincerity. She studied his face again and saw something in his eyes that made her think he wanted to say more, but the emotion was fleeting, and a moment later it was gone.

"Stay on the main road this time," he said.

Caladhel winced but nodded. "I will."

The King dipped his head in polite farewell. "Good journey, Lady Caladhel," he said, and without another word, he departed.

* * *

Caladhel had her bags packed and readied before she crawled into bed. She slept fitfully on her last night in Limrond, waking now and then. Her eyes sought her sword repeatedly in the dim light. Its presence reassured her that her coming freedom was not a dream.

Caladhel rose slightly before dawn, having found little rest in the intervening hours. She dressed quickly, donning her riding clothes. The leather and rugged fabric felt strange against her skin after weeks of wearing fine dresses. Her leggings, in particular, made her impending departure feel all the more real, but also left her feeling anxious. She worried Thranduil might have changed his mind during the night or that his promise to send her home had been a game. She did not wish to think so ill of his motives, but could not banish the thoughts.

When she was dressed Caladhel secured her weapons and checked her bags one last time. At the door she hesitated before turning the handle. A wave of dread washed over her that it might be locked. The handle turned at her urging and she stepped out into the hall. With each step her anxiety lessened. It vanished completely when she reached the front gate and spied Iordor. He spoke with Beleth, who promised to see her off the night before.

Iordor bowed to Caladhel in greeting and took her travel bag from her hand. "I will take care of this while you say your goodbyes." He was out the gate a moment later, securing the bundle on an awaiting deer.

Beleth wrapped Caladhel in a motherly embrace. "I will miss you," she said, smiling, and then added, "Thranduil will, too."

Caladhel would miss the Greenwood lady as well, for she had come to think of Beleth as more than a friend. The mention of Thranduil, however, puzzled her. She could not fathom what part of her company the King would possibly miss.

"I doubt that," she said.

Beleth lifted a hand to Caladhel's cheek. "I would not be so sure if I were you," she said, and quieted her voice so only Caladhel could hear what she said next. "He would keep you here forever if he could."

Beleth's admission and the seriousness with which she spoke it made Caladhel uneasy. A frown formed upon her face. "Why?" she asked. "All I did was anger him and bring injury to him and his warriors."

A sad smile formed on Beleth's face. "You also brought peace to his soul, for a moment."

Caladhel did not know what to think of Beleth's claim. Peace was not a word she would use to describe any interaction between her and the King. She did not know what Thranduil could possibly have said to his aunt to make her think such a thing, but she was certain Beleth misread him.

"An entire moment?" Caladhel asked, unable to keep the ring of skepticism from her voice.

Beleth understood Caladhel's doubt, but undeterred, she added, "A moment can feel like an age to a troubled soul."

_A troubled soul. _Caladhel recalled her conversation with Thranduil as he sat alone in the dark. The ellon who sat before that fire was different from the one she first met seated on the throne, and again, yesterday, he was changed. She wondered which one was real or if they were, as Beleth intimated, warring facets of the same soul.

Caladhel's thoughts turned to her last conversation with the King. There was a moment, after she apologized, when she thought he wanted to say something more. He changed his mind, and instead, offered her a wise warning and farewell.

"When he told me I would be returning home, for a second, I thought he would apologize."

Beleth smiled and shook her head. "Thranduil does not do humble well, in that, he is much like his father. But he might get there, in time." She took Caladhel's hands in hers and squeezed them. "We will see you again for the wedding."

Caladhel returned Beleth's smile. "I look forward to it."

"Good journey."

"Farewell, Beleth, until we meet again."


	16. The Fire

**Chapter 15: The Fire **

**Lothlórien  
Third Age 109  
Vernal Equinox**

Celeborn was having a difficult time enjoying his daughter's wedding celebration. It was not only the endless preparations or the needs of his daughter's many guests leading up to the event that burdened him. He was distracted, and had been so for the last few days, ever since the arrival of the Greenwood company.

Upon his niece's return from Greenwood, Caladhel dutifully delivered Thranduil's acceptance of the wedding invitation along with the King's letter, offered her impressions of his reaction and that of his counselors, and threw in a few choice bits of intelligence as well, but no matter how hard Celeborn pressed, Caladhel would not tell him why Thranduil detained her or the reason he finally let her leave. Thranduil's letter offered him nothing, merely a list of guests and the gift of twenty barrels of Dorwinion wine for the feast.

Celeborn had not been foolish enough to expect a written apology or any apology at all, for that matter. A king had the right to request _an_ _extended visit _of any guest, as Thranduil's initial letter so carefully framed Caladhel's detention. But with silence from both parties, Celeborn remained ignorant of what had passed, and if there was one thing Celeborn loathed, it was being kept in the dark. He did what he could to draw the truth from Caladhel, but dropped the matter after several weeks. He knew when to concede a battle lost and his niece bent no more easily than Galadriel once her mind was set.

Celeborn ultimately decided it was best to let the matter rest and put both his and the Greenwood king's mistakes in the past. He would have done so, too, if not for Thranduil. When the King of Greenwood and his company first arrived, Caladhel was, of course, present with the rest of Lórien's court. Thranduil and his niece greeted each other politely enough and outwardly, at least, Caladhel gave no sign that Thranduil's presence troubled her. It was later that evening when Celeborn noticed how Thranduil's eyes would seek out his niece, no matter where she walked or with whom she was speaking. Thranduil's behavior was not overt and Celeborn was certain he marked it only because of his own intense observation of his guest. Caladhel, for her part, appeared oblivious to Thranduil's attention.

Thranduil's watchfulness did not end the night of his arrival but continued the following days, through meals and meetings and afternoon teas. At first Celeborn could not put his finger on why Thranduil's gaze disturbed him so. It was Elrond who ultimately supplied the answer. Whenever Celeborn spied Elrond watching Celebrían, he saw joy and love for her reflected in his eyes. Thranduil's eyes gave away nothing. Only once could Celeborn discern any hint of emotion behind Thranduil's gaze, and what he saw was more akin to despair than to joy. It troubled him, more so because of Caladhel's silence than for any other cause. Still, as the days passed, Caladhel remained untroubled, so Celeborn chose to delay any confrontation in favor of silent watchfulness.

The day of the wedding arrived swiftly and all proceeded as planned. The ceremony was joyous, the celebration glorious, the food beyond compare, and the wine Thranduil provided, the best the court of Lórien had ever tasted. After dessert, the tables were cleared and the dancing began. Celeborn and his wife parted company, having agreed to split the task of mingling with their guests. Celeborn did his best to be a gracious host, giving each of his many guests their due attention, but he kept a furtive eye on Thranduil, waiting for the opportunity to speak with him in private.

An hour later Celeborn found himself with Greenwood's king, who was seated alone on a bench beside a great mallorn tree. Celeborn took account of the King from the shadows and followed the direction of Thranduil's gaze. He watched the dancers, or more rightly, he watched Caladhel dance. Celeborn approached and before he came within twenty paces the King's eyes were upon him. He greeted Celeborn with a nod and the Lórien lord bowed before seating himself on the bench. They sat together in silence for a time, watching the dancers.

Celeborn had considered long how to broach the topic of Caladhel's visit with Thranduil. All his memories of the younger ellon suggested candor was best, and he, himself, was too weary for anything else.

"Caladhel never told me why you delayed her departure from Greenwood," he said, "or why you chose to send her home." That was about as direct as Celeborn could be without being rude. He was, however, cautious enough not to use the word detained or accuse Thranduil directly of any ill motive.

Thranduil laughed, a response Celeborn was not expecting. "Is she not as reliable a spy as you thought?" he asked.

Celeborn frowned. He had known in his heart that was the reason Thranduil detained her, and was somewhat surprised at how straightforward the King was regarding his motive. Celeborn took as sip of wine before he spoke next.

"She did tell me what you thought of Celebrían and her marriage."

Thranduil's gaze shifted from the dancers to Celeborn, his expression severe. "I never feigned interest in your daughter, Celeborn," he said, "though I admit to being surprised you permitted her union with Elrond."

Celeborn's gaze sought his daughter. She and Elrond were dancing to some ancient party tune from Doriath. Their arms were entwined and both were laughing. "It was not an easy decision," he replied, "but nor was it truly mine to make."

Thranduil was unsympathetic to Celeborn's position. "You are far too yielding."

Celeborn smiled despite Thranduil's unfavorable critique. "Love often has that effect."

A discomfited expression flashed across Thranduil's face. Celeborn was quick enough to notice, but a moment later the King's features were again unreadable. Despite the lack of feeling in Thranduil's expression, his eyes betrayed him, for they returned to the dancers. Celeborn followed the King's gaze once more to his niece.

"Caladhel is not much like my daughter," he said.

Thranduil's eyes abandoned the elleth in question the instant Celeborn spoke her name and his unease returned. "No," he replied. "She is not."

Celeborn watched her as she danced now with Celebrían. Their arms were hooked and they spun each other around. When they were children, Caladhel would urge her cousin to spin faster, so fast they would fall dizzy with laughter to the ground. Celeborn had always found their game amusing. Caladhel's father was of a different opinion.

"Most ellyn think her spirit too fierce," said Celeborn. "Her father called her Naurhin when she was a child."

Thranduil snorted at the apt epessë. "She turned those eyes on me more than once during her stay in Limrond."

Celeborn did not doubt it. Caladhel had a fiery glare like another elleth he loved. Celeborn's gaze swept across the field, seeking Galadriel. He found his wife speaking with some lords of Elrond's house. She felt his attention upon her and looked his way. When their eyes met she smiled, a gesture he returned.

"Even when my wife was young," said Celeborn, "her gaze made ancient lords tremble. It was what drew me to her when we first met."

Those same eyes sparkled at Celeborn and beckoned him to join her. He nodded, but returned his attention briefly to Thranduil. The lines of the ellon's face had drawn into a frown and his eyes were thoughtful.

Celeborn knew without a doubt that the King of Greenwood felt something for Caladhel, but what that was, he could only guess. Celeborn might not know what to make of Thranduil, but he was confident enough in Caladhel to allow her to sort the ellon out. He rose from his seat and looked down upon the young king. Celeborn was not quite over his annoyance with Thranduil for detaining his niece, nor had he forgotten the injury Haldir suffered at the hands of Greenwood's guards, but something about Thranduil's troubled gaze and the brief glimpse of his despair, stirred him to pity.

"Not all ellyn fear the fire," he said, offering what little he could in the way of sympathy, and with a bow, Celeborn left him to join his wife.

* * *

Caladhel took a sip of water from her glass when a pause in the music allowed her to escape the floor. She had not wanted to stop, but found herself slightly out of breath and in need of a cool drink. Haldir offered her a glass of wine when she passed him, but Caladhel refused to touch it. She had had enough of Thranduil's favorite wine to last her a lifetime. When she finished her drink, her eyes sought him out. She had seen the King of Greenwood earlier speaking with her uncle and wondered how well that encounter went. She knew her uncle was still upset by her lack of candor, but decided with the wedding so near, less detail about her stay in Limrond was best.

When she located Thranduil amidst the crowd she discovered his eyes already upon her. She wove her way through a dozen tables and across the open field to where he stood. He was speaking with a lord of his court, one whose name Caladhel could not remember. It mattered not. Upon her arrival the lord greeted her politely by name, bowed, and dismissed himself.

Thranduil stood leaning slightly against the trunk of a mallorn with a goblet of his favorite wine in his hand. She had debated earlier whether to invite the Greenwood king to dance. In the end, it was not a difficult decision. She would have extended the courtesy if nothing ill had passed between them, and so she extended it now, if only to avoid arousing suspicion and as a way of letting Thranduil know she was willing to forgive, if not forget.

"King Thranduil," Caladhel said in greeting. "Will you join me for a dance?"

"I do not dance," he replied.

"Not ever?" she asked, surprised.

"No," he replied, "never."

Caladhel's lighthearted expression fell and her mouth turned down into a frown. "Pity," she said, "good evening, then." She bowed to the King of Greenwood and was about to turn back to the dance, but a question halted her mid step.

"You bow to me now?" he asked.

Caladhel returned her attention to Thranduil, noting the surprise in his eyes and on his face. "You are a king," she said, as if he had failed to consider the obvious.

"You did not offer me such courtesies when I held you captive."

He was right, of course. But her reason, too, should have been obvious. "You did not deserve them then," she stated flatly.

Thranduil studied Caladhel for a time and his lack of instant reproach surprised her. Caladhel had been sure he would, at the very least, admonish her for her past rudeness. After all, she was sent to Greenwood as an envoy, and a king's ill behavior did not excuse disrespect from a representative of a foreign land.

When Thranduil finally did pronounce his opinion of her behavior, it was not what Caladhel expected. "I think I preferred it when you refused to bow."

Caladhel found it difficult to believe him, but she saw in his eyes no hint of jest. She wondered at his honesty and what it meant. She wondered, too, how many glasses of wine he drank before she came upon him.

As if he had heard her musings Thranduil's attention shifted to his glass, but his expression was troubled and his thoughts clearly not on the goblet. "I am sorry I raised my hand," he said, "and not only because others saw."

Caladhel had accused him of that very thing the day after the banquet. She was surprised he remembered. At the time, her accusation appeared not to trouble him at all. If the Thranduil she spoke with that day had tried to convince her of his shame, she would have dismissed his efforts completely. She could not say why, but for some reason, this Thranduil she believed.

"I believe you," she said at last.

This time it was Thranduil who was surprised, if the look in his eyes was to be believed. "Do you?" he asked.

Caladhel merely nodded in reply.

Thranduil's gaze shifted from Caladhel to his glass, and despite what appeared to be his best efforts, the corners of his mouth crept upward into a smile. "You are welcome to visit Greenwood again whenever you desire," he said.

"And why would I do that?" Caladhel asked.

"Beleth misses you," he replied, and hesitated a moment before he added, "and it would please me to see you again."

Caladhel had a hard time convincing herself she heard him rightly. It was no less than his aunt had intimated before she departed. "And here I thought all I did was make you mad," Caladhel said, for she could think of no other reply.

Thranduil lifted his eyes from the glass and found hers again. She was certain her confusion was written clear across her face. Thranduil's eyes held a different emotion but Caladhel was not clearheaded enough to give it a name.

"You have made me feel many things," he said, "anger is but one of them."

Caladhel suspected earlier Thranduil had drunk one too many glasses of wine. Now she was certain of it. This was not the conversation she prepared for when she came to offer the Sindarin king the courtesy of a dance. She had easily dismissed Beleth's suggestion that her time as Thranduil's captive had meant something more to him. It had felt, to her mind, too bizarre a notion to believe. Caladhel was hardly ever wrong in her estimation of others and to find herself so utterly mistaken was a rare event. Her thoughts returned once more to her conversation with Beleth at the gate.

"Before I left Limrond, Beleth told me you did not wish to set me free."

The lines of Thranduil's face drew into a frown as his mind looked back. "She spoke the truth," he said.

"Then why did you let me leave?" Caladhel had asked him that very question when he came to her room, but the answer he gave was an evasion. She had not even been sure he knew the answer at the time, but she sensed now he might have one to give.

Thranduil's eyes moved from Caladhel's face to his goblet and from the glass to the dancers in the field. Caladhel followed the line of his gaze to Celebrían and Elrond. They had yet to stop dancing. Caladhel was certain they would dance all night and straight on 'til morning. She could hear their voices ringing with laughter even at a distance. She suspected Thranduil could hear them as well. He watched them awhile before he answered.

"Perhaps I thought, if I freed you now, you might one day return to me."

Caladhel swore her heart stopped beating. It picked up its rhythm again after a minute's pause, and with it her breath. She stared at him blankly, wondering to whom it was she spoke that so resembled Greenwood's king's. She tried to sort them out, all the versions of him she had met and wondered at those she had yet to encounter. If she had been called upon to wager an hour ago, she would not have suspected a romantic hid among the many fragments of his soul. She took a moment to consider if she would want to meet that version of Thranduil if it did, indeed, exist.

When at last Caladhel decided on the matter, she spoke. "Lord Iordor claims Mereth Nuin Giliath is the greatest celebration of the year in Greenwood."

"It is," Thranduil said.

"I might be persuaded to visit for the feast."

Thranduil marked clearly her intent. "And what must I surrender to persuade you?" he asked.

Caladhel considered both his question and the tone in which it was asked, cautious but willing to attempt. She would see. She smiled at the absurdity of it, but breathed deep and offered him her price, not so great as a Silmaril, or perhaps, greater yet.

"You must promise you will dance with me."

Thranduil's brow furrowed at her offer and at the sight of his expression she laughed. She dipped her head, turned away from him, and headed back to join the dance.

Thranduil's eyes followed Caladhel as she rejoined the other revelers. Her cousin greeted her and an ellon took her hands in his. It took no more than a single twirl before she was once again lost in the dance. Joy lit her eyes. He could see them shining even at so great a distance. Thranduil had thought them bluer today than their normal grey. The silver strands in her dark hair reflected the light of Ithil, so when she tossed her head she shimmered like Varda's sky. Her laughter rang clear, despite the many voices, and held for Thranduil a music all its own. She matched every rhythm the minstrels set, as graceful and sure in every turn and movement now as she had been with a bow in her hand. Thranduil watched her dance for many hours, and the longer he did, the more certain he became of one thing. In all the ages he had lived, he never thought any elleth so beautiful.

~End Part 1~

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_**A/N:**__ So that's my original idea for an ending, but with so much support for continuing this tale, I'm revved. Since I don't have a firm outline for part 2, I am going to be updating more slowly, probably once every 2 weeks instead of once a week. I'll have to be a little more thoughtful from here on out. _

_Musical sidebar: I don't write characters based on songs, but Thranduil's character at this point in the tale perfectly fits the song '46 & 2' by Tool. The title is in reference to the Jungian philosophical idea of humans gaining two more chromosomes and thereby reaching a higher level of consciousness. The song also references change through 'the shadow,' which represents the part of yourself that you hate, fear and repress. If you've never heard the song and you can tolerate progressive metal, head on over to youtube. There is also a cover by a group of middle/high school students that is simply amazing. _


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